


Blinded by Love and Daring

by dettiot



Series: ink in my pen ran dry [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 142,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years have passed since Oliver Queen or Felicity Smoak published anything.  The world thinks it knows why--a shipwreck and an attack.  But the truth is much more intense than anyone realizes . . . not unlike the connection that exists between Oliver and Felicity.  Publishing/writer!AU slow burn Olicity.  Rated E for the epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so appreciative of all the kudos, comments, and reviews I’ve gotten on the previous two stories in this series. It’s so awesome to hear that people are enjoying my work! So I hope you keep enjoying, especially since there’s a lot of Oliver & Felicity interaction in this first chapter. :-)

_The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring_. Annie Dillard

XXX

Publisher’s Weekly, November 12, 2012  
 **Ex Astris In Trouble?**

Five years ago, Ex Astris was a new imprint with an impressive mix of highbrow talent and popular bestsellers. Not many niche imprints could boast publishing authors as diverse as Oliver Queen ( _The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account_ ) and Felicity Smoak ( _Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology_ ). They were a flagship of the publishing boom in the early days of the e-book revolution, packaging their books with exclusive electronic content. 

Times have changed, though. The disappearance of Queen and the attack on Smoak seemed like bad luck at first, yet it touched off a string of unfortunate misfires for Ex Astris. Their revenues have fallen steadily for the past two years. The news last week that they were shutting down their office in San Francisco and cancelling several forthcoming paperback editions has prompted gossip that the imprint desperately needs a bestseller--and fast. 

Publisher’s Lunch, November 15, 2012  
 **Where Are They Now?** (excerpts)

 ** _Oliver Queen_** : The first author to parlay a Twitter account into a book deal, Queen used his playboy image to promote his PW best-seller, _The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account_ , in the fall of 2007. A rumored follow-up was thwarted when the Queen family yacht went down at sea with Queen on board. His disappearance sparked off a media frenzy and sent his book back up the best-seller lists for a brief time. His return last month after five years has begun another frenzy. It’s uncertain what Queen’s plans are when it comes to publishing.

 ** _Felicity Smoak_** : Already well-regarded, Smoak was on the verge of becoming a breakout star, preceding Sheryl Sandberg and Anita Sarkeesian in talking about the role of women in technology and how their challenges impact society. But then she was attacked by an enraged anti-feminist. Caught up in her recovery and the recently-concluded trial, Smoak has only published a few articles in the last five years. She recently reported on Twitter that she is currently beginning work on a collection of those articles, to be published with a foreword touching upon her experiences. Publication date is TBA.

XXX

Oliver stomped across the concrete floor of the Foundry, his hand tight around his bow. Only Shado's training kept him from slamming the bow down on one of the tables. Because you respected your tools, even during failure--because it was never the bow's fault for the failure. It was yours.

And all he had been doing lately was failing.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver rubbed his fingers over his eyes and pushed aside the self-doubt as best he could. He needed to find a solution to the problem. Because so far, any names he had crossed off the List were due more to luck than skill or planning. And that wasn't acceptable.

Admittedly, the task of saving Starling City was even more daunting than he had imagined. And Oliver's own shortcomings were becoming clearer.

He didn't have the tech skills that seemed more and more necessary to bring the criminal element to heel. The plans and strategies he developed weren’t good enough to handle unexpected complications. He could go toe-to-toe with the hired muscle guarding the bad guys, but he felt useless when it came time to take out the head of the monster.

Add in an altogether too insightful bodyguard and Oliver felt like he was at his wit's end.

Stripping off his hood and jacket, Oliver rolled his shoulders before heading over to the salmon ladder. Perhaps the physical activity would help him figure out what to do with John Diggle.

The bodyguard had been his mother's idea--actually something between a request and a plea. When Oliver had come home after a rare Hood success bruised and bloody, Moira had seen him before he could clean up. Caught, he had spun a lie about running into a few street toughs who held against him the closure of the Queen Consolidated factory in the Glades. He hadn't thought anything of it, until two days later when his mother had presented John Diggle to him.

Oliver set the bar in the bottom rung of the ladder and began climbing, feeling his muscles tense and release, his mind moving into that zone where he could sometimes find the unorthodox answers he needed.

How to handle Diggle? Oliver knew the ex-soldier had suspicions about him. He had seen too much to buy Oliver Queen as a playboy, no matter how much Oliver stressed the act. And Diggle wasn’t shy about calling him on his bullshit. That very morning, when Oliver had come downstairs from his bedroom, Diggle was waiting in the foyer and reading _The Frat Boy Way_. His bodyguard’s expression as he looked at him over the top of the book was so loaded with mocking disbelief, Oliver had ditched Diggle as quickly as he could on general principle, let alone needing to deal with James Holder being taken out by another player. 

So how could he get Diggle to stop speculating about what Oliver was really doing?

_Tell him the truth._

With a snort, Oliver paused at the top of the ladder. He could just imagine how well that would go. He doubted Diggle would be willing to turn a blind eye to Oliver's nighttime activities.

Besides, this was his crusade and his alone. There wasn’t room for anyone else. 

Lifting himself up in a series of fast pull-ups, he focused on the growing burn in his muscles. Focused on what he could do, focused on being stronger and better than he was a minute ago. 

Such improvement was only possible in a physical sense. 

XXX

Raking a hand through her hair, Felicity stared at the computer screen in front of her. The blinking cursor was just sitting there, blinking at her. Mocking her. Whispering that she was never going to write another word again. Taunting her that she was going to fail and leave her publisher in the lurch, end up evicted and broke, forced to move back to Vegas and become a cocktail waitress like her mom . . . 

She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her chair back. Her brain was her best and worst friend. 

Maybe some coffee would help. 

Standing up, she crossed over to the coffee pot and refilled her mug, then leaned back against the counter as she slowly took a few sips. 

As seductive as self-doubt and perfectionism and procrastination were, she couldn’t let herself be sucked in by them any more than she already had been. Her apartment was sparkling, she had redone her nails at least once every day, the DVDs had been reorganized twice and she had deep conditioned her hair three times in the last week. Any attempts at beginning the foreword for her article collection had seen her type a sentence or two before realizing it was awful and just deleting it. And anything that seemed not bad at first grew utterly pedestrian and cliched as she read it over. 

So it wasn’t surprising that now she was letting her mind spiral out into the worse of the worst-case scenarios while belittling herself. It was a bad habit--quite possibly her worst one. One that she had felt like she had managed to deal with, before her attack. 

After that . . . she wasn’t sure she had managed to deal with anything.

Felicity rubbed her thumbs against her mug. She was getting the sinking suspicion that the foreword wasn’t coming because she didn’t know what to say. And an author had to start from a place of having an opinion, a thought, _something_ to express. Given how she could babble about anything or nothing, it was ironic that she had nothing to say about an event that was so important to her. 

Her fingers went to the scar under her ear, stroking it unconsciously before Felicity pulled her hand away. There had to be some way for her to get something down for the damn foreword. Perhaps she just needed to start somewhere else. Not at the beginning, since the song from _The Sound of Music_ lied in claiming it was a good place to start. The foreword wasn’t just about her: it was about explaining the themes of the articles included in the collection, giving readers an understanding of what they were about to read. She could do that. 

And maybe . . . maybe she just needed to do some research. Check out some memoirs from the library, see how she could approach talking about what had happened to her. After all, there was no need to reinvent the wheel--she wasn’t the first woman to be attacked for her views. Taking a page from other authors might be what she needed to get over this hump. 

Now that she had a plan, Felicity felt more energized. Sticking her tongue out at her computer, she shut the laptop’s lid and went to put on some clothes. She would head over to the library, and then she would reward herself with a trip to that new coffee shop.

XXX

Starling City Examiner, November 27, 2012  
 **Police Blotter**

The body of a man with an arrow through some sort of prosthetic eye implant was recovered from a downtown office building last night. 

Eye on Starling blog, November 27, 2012  
 **Tweet Tweet: What Starling City Is Talking About**

Jitters is making me consider cheating on my regular coffee shop. I feel so dirty. --@felicity_smoak

Saw the Vigilante last night!!!! #epicbeatdown --@ninja1207380

omg can’t believe the line @ verdant! --@missylou

Anyone else nervous about going to the Glades tonight? #needabodyguard #whitegirlproblems --@uknoit

#badCalifornian because I prefer Big Belly to In ‘n Out. --@bradtheman

US Weekly, December 3, 2012  
 **Oliver Queen: Spotted!**

The recently-returned billionaire and co-owner of the hottest club in Starling City was seen outside a local coffee shop twice this week. Handsome as ever, it appears Ollie has become a caffeine junkie thanks to running Verdant--that’s why he’s been stopping in at Jitters, a new coffee shop in the Glades. Reports say he’s very fond of the eggnog latte--so ladies, start stocking up on that holiday concoction! 

XXX

After five years struggling to survive, exhaustion was relative. Yes, most nights he might only be getting four hours of sleep at a max, but Oliver was slightly pleased to find he wasn’t feeling the lack of sleep. 

Partly it was due to sheer willpower--but another part was thanks to the new coffee shop that had opened around the corner from Verdant and next door to Big Belly. With extra-strong coffee, Jitters had quickly become one of the most popular coffee shops in the Glades. And he only knew about Jitters and Big Belly thanks to Diggle. 

It wasn’t necessarily what he had wanted, bringing Diggle on board. But when his bodyguard had been poisoned and the only hope was taking him to the Foundry and giving him some of the island herbs . . . well, it was the only thing he could do. Diggle was still wary about what Oliver was doing, but he was already proving how valuable he was. Not just for backup and strategy discussions, but in helping Oliver keep all the elements of his double lives from slipping through his fingers. 

That was what helped lift some of the burden from his shoulders, let him not feel so beat-down. Made him feel like he was actually making a difference. Doing what he had set out to do. There was still the pain of having to lie to his family, to Tommy. But he could manage that. It was to keep them safe. 

Covering his mouth with his hand as a yawn managed to break through, Oliver shifted his feet as he waited in line at Jitters. Digg was meeting him here; he had stopped in at Big Belly to check on Carly, since there had been a robbery attempt at the diner a few nights ago. The buzz of his phone made Oliver check his texts. 

_please god coffee_. 

Oliver snorted a little at Tommy’s message. His best friend had stayed until close at Verdant, while Oliver had ducked out due to vigilante business, while telling Tommy a hot brunette had taken up his evening. 

_@ jitters now good timing. usual?_

_Y x2._ He must really be suffering if he wanted two coffees, but it was Tommy’s funeral. 

The line was moving slowly and Oliver had just started messaging Digg to ask if he should just get him coffee and they would meet at Verdant, when the voice of the woman at the head of the line made him hit send with the message only half-written. 

Because he knew that voice. 

Craning his neck and taking advantage of every inch of height, Oliver tried to see if it was who he thought it was. 

The woman was the right height, he thought. But her hair, pulled back in a curly ponytail, was blonde, not brunette. Her coat was a bright purple, vibrant in the sea of black and gray and navy. Her hand, with painted nails in a shade of neon orange, fluttered up around her face for some reason as she scanned the menu board. 

It couldn’t be Felicity Smoak.

But he wanted it to be her. More than he could understand, more than he had realized. Enough that he had to make sure. So even though it would mean having to wait even longer, Oliver stepped out of his place in line and moved towards the counter, drawing up alongside her. She must have seen him out of the corner of her eye, because she glanced over distractedly. 

Oliver could see her tense after a moment, as if she suddenly realized who was standing beside her, before she slowly turned her head to look right into his eyes. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyes were large and blue, just like they had been five years ago. When his last glimpse of her was seeing her shock as he kissed another woman. 

And just like five years ago, he felt his gut tighten with the impact of having Felicity Smoak look at him. 

The change in her appearance was dramatic. Before, she had seemed so . . . contained. Like she didn’t want to attract attention, didn’t want to be noticed. But now, with the blonde hair and the bright colors, she made you want to look at her. 

Or perhaps it was just about distracting people from the things she didn’t want to be noticed. Like the scar he could just see under her left ear, one which left a lumpy patch of too-pink skin on the side of her neck.

“Oliver,” she said, sounding breathless. 

Her voice was the same, at least. It still sparked the same reaction inside him. Oliver pasted on his playboy smile. “I thought it was you, but I couldn’t tell until I got close. It’s good to see you, Felicity.” 

It shouldn’t be possible for her eyes to get any wider, but they did as her fuchsia lips parted. “You remember me?”

“Of course,” he said, trying to sound bland and not reveal what he was feeling. Which was a combination of amusement, curiosity and worry. She made him want to smile for real. He wanted to know more about her. And he couldn’t help wondering why she still seemed so very Felicity, after everything that had happened to her, when he had gone through the same thing but didn’t ever feel like Oliver. 

“Miss? Excuse me, miss?” 

The voice of the barista made Felicity jump and turn back towards the counter. “Yes! I’m sorry, yes, you’re waiting for me. Tall mocha with an extra shot, please, and I’m so sorry, I’m feeling a . . .” She paused, and glanced over at Oliver again, looking like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then she pushed her glasses up a little, a gesture that seemed unconscious, and smiled. “I’m feeling a little scatterbrained this morning,” she finished, looking back at the barista. 

With a bored nod, the barista held his hand out for payment and Oliver quickly stepped in. “It’s on me,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Add a large black coffee, too, please.” He gave the barista a smile and turned to Felicity, who looked mortified. 

“You didn’t have to do that. It’s not like you can’t afford it, of course, it’s just coffee, but I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to buy me a coffee to make up for just showing up here when I’m already feeling guilty and making my train of thought totally derail and--” 

“Felicity,” he said, leaning in towards her on instinct, seeing her mouth snap shut as he cut her off. “It’s okay. It’s my pleasure.” 

“It’s your pleasure to buy coffee for babbling blondes?” she asked, sounding slightly embarrassed but smiling at him again. The smile that made him want her to not walk away from him after she got her coffee. 

He felt his lips quirk up in a half-smile, something more genuine than the fake one he had given her before, and nodded. “If only to find out why they went blonde when they used to be brunette.” 

Felicity’s cheeks flushed as he turned to the barista, giving him a sizeable tip and then handing over a hundred dollar bill. “To make up for cutting in line,” he said, turning to nod at the people behind them. Amid the flurry of chatter and the beeping sounds of people typing out messages to say how Oliver Queen had just bought them coffee, Oliver picked up the two cups of coffee and nodded to Felicity. “Find us a table?” 

XXX

How was this her life?

If this was a movie, she would be rolling her eyes right now at how cliched and fake this all was. But real life wasn’t a movie and movies weren’t real life. 

Although maybe that was how it was for Oliver Queen. Because how else to explain him? How was it even possible for the man to become ridiculously hot while shipwrecked on a deserted island? It wasn’t that he had been unattractive before--far from it. But five years ago, he had been all polished and preppy: just like the frat boy he claimed to be. 

Now, though, Oliver Queen was a man. The close-cropped hair, the stubble, and how on Earth had his shoulders gotten even wider? 

And she had to stop thinking about this before he sat down across from her and fixed her with those eyes of his. They had been powerful before--now they were like blue lasers piercing her soul. 

Felicity felt her face go red. Romance novels had better writing than what was going through her head right now. 

Spotting a table by the window, she quickly dashed over to it while giving herself a silent pep talk. He was just being polite and curious. They’d sit down, they’d have coffee, she’d try not to die of embarrassment while they talked, and then they’d go their separate ways. 

“How’s this?” she asked, turning to look at him and gesturing at the table. 

“It’s great,” he said, nodding at her to take the far seat. Thinking it was a little odd, Felicity didn’t see a reason not to take the chair with its back to the door, so she sat down and held her hand out for her coffee. 

His lips formed that frankly devastating half-smile again and he handed her the cup before he had even sat down--a display of courtesy that she definitely appreciated. Felicity took a slow sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness on her tongue, feeling herself settle into a more socially acceptable version of herself. 

“So,” he said quietly, his hands wrapped around his own cup and his arms resting on the table, “I heard about what happened to you.” His eyes were soft, although no less intense than before. “I’m sorry.” 

She took another sip, needing a moment. Because the way he had just ripped the Band-aid off and brought up the attack . . . it was nice having it out in the open. But it made sense, because Oliver Queen was the first person she had met since her attack that would understand people tiptoeing around you, people who had questions and just didn’t know how to ask. 

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze. “And--and the same for you. I’m sorry.” 

Oliver nodded a little, not looking away from her. “You’re okay?” 

Shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly, she tried to smile. “I’m surviving.” She paused and shook her head. “No, that’s what I did for the last five years. Now . . . now I’m trying to live.” Her smile felt a little more natural now. “Attempting to write again . . . learning to enjoy the things I had to give up for a while. Like this.” 

“Coffee?” he asked, raising his cup to his mouth. Felicity thought he might have been smiling but was hiding it behind drinking. 

“Oh, no, I never gave up coffee. That would be impossible. No, I meant more just being out in the world. Feeling like I’m more than just me, that I’m part of something bigger, instead of hiding and trying to blend in.” 

“Is that the reason for your hair?” he asked, sounding curious. No, not just curious--intrigued. Like she was some kind of puzzle. 

Felicity didn’t know how to feel about that. She hated mysteries herself--she had an almost pathological need to solve them. But she had never thought someone might consider her a mystery. And then there was the flutter of _Oliver Queen_ being the one who wanted to figure her out.

The world was very strange sometimes. 

“I suppose so,” she said, running a hand lightly over her hair. “My friend Sara encouraged me--she said I’d look hot, which is the kind of thing your best friend has to say, isn’t it?--and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. I wanted to start living my life for myself and no one else. Because it’s my choice.” 

Oliver looked . . . kinda dumbstruck. Which was a bit adorable, really. She felt her cheeks go pink and quickly drank some coffee. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a freshman who just got a C in Philosophy 101. I’ve just . . . I’ve been thinking about all of this a lot lately and you made the mistake of asking, so . . .” 

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m glad that you’re so . . . you.” He frowned. “It’s good that you still believe that the world has something good about it. Or at least a reason to keep trying to find it--that’s what I’m trying to say.” 

Her eyebrows knitted together as she considered his words. Considered _him_ , actually. Because . . . because all the coverage of Oliver Queen since his return had been not that different to what it had been before. Ollie the playboy, all charm and flash. Club owner, life of the party, billionaire. And it wasn’t that he didn’t seem to be that . . . but it really didn’t fit with the man sitting in front of her. 

For one thing, he was so thoughtful. So self-contained. Like he would be perfectly happy to sit here in silence, drinking coffee and people-watching. Not exactly the behavior you’d expect from someone with his reputation. 

Five years ago, she thought he had potential to be more than what he was. A better writer, definitely . . . and maybe even a better man. Now, seeing him like this, even with not knowing what he had been through, she felt like she had been right. Because she liked the man sitting across from her. She kind of wished that the whole world could know this Oliver, instead of the one he was in the newspapers and gossip sites--that he didn’t feel like he had to put on an act, like he had when he had interrupted her coffee deliberations. 

And now she had been sitting here like a bump on a log while all of this was swirling in her mind. She wasn’t sure what was worse: clearly getting lost in her thoughts, or burying him under an avalanche of babble. 

“I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to go all quiet on you.” She sat up straight in her chair. “I’d like to ask you a question.” 

“Fire away,” he said, his voice neutral as he lifted his cup. 

“Have you thought any about doing some writing?”

He paused, the cup half-lowered, and looked at her in confusion. “What?” 

“That probably wasn’t what you were expecting,” she said, flashing a grin at him.

“No . . . although you’re not the first person to ask me about it.” At her inquiring look, he smiled a little. “Tommy wanted to know if I was interested in continuing with Frat Boy Fraternity.” 

Felicity did her best to hold back her own reaction, searching Oliver’s face to see what he thought. But since he just gazed back at her, she decided to keep going. “Are you interested in that?” 

To her silent relief, he shook his head. “No . . . it doesn’t fit me now.” 

Nodding in understanding, she popped the lid off her coffee and added some more sugar. “I think you should try writing again. Maybe figure out what you want to write this time, instead of just going along with what you fell into.” 

“Why?” he asked, leaning forward like he had earlier. Felicity took a breath, feeling thankful for the table that kept him at a somewhat safe distance . . . yet also a little resentful.

“I just--I always thought you could be a good writer. I’d like to see if I’m right,” she said quietly, watching as his face softened even as his gaze intensified, making her feel like she was the only person in the world. 

Oliver opened his mouth to speak but the sound of a cell phone made Felicity startle, yet he only leaned back in his seat and pulled out his phone. “Sorry--Diggle, what is it?” 

She watched him, not even fully listening to his conversation, as she tried to fit the pieces of him together into a picture that made sense. But she couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to get going,” Oliver said as soon as he hung up the phone. He started to stand, then paused in a kind of half-crouch that should have looked awkward but didn’t--not even a little bit. “It was really nice to see you, Felicity.” 

“Likewise,” she said, smiling at him and trying to not think about how she should give him her number. But instead, she just lifted up her coffee and said, “And thank you.” 

There was that little half-smile again. She could get addicted to that expression, she thought with a slight blush. “You’re welcome.” He tapped his fingers against the table and finished standing up. “I’ll see you around.” 

Before she could say anything else, he turned and walked away. Felicity found herself watching him go. Not just because wow, how had she not noticed he looked as good from the back as he did from the front, but also . . . because she wished they had gotten to talk longer. 

XXX

Starling City Tattler, December 7, 2012  
 **Who’s the Mystery Blonde With Ollie?**

The gossip blogosphere heated up yesterday when candid pictures of Oliver Queen and an unknown woman hit the wires. You might think, ‘so what?’ but trust us on this, you’ll want to see these photos. Taken at Jitters, that popular coffee spot for those seeking as much caffeine as possible, the billionaire and the beauty (albeit a nerdy one) were quite cozy as they sipped coffees at a window side table. Weigh in, **_Tattler_** readers: just who is the blonde who’s captured Ollie’s attention? 

Starling City Examiner, December 12, 2012  
 **Society Beat: Queen Holiday Gala Highlight of Holiday Season**

With Oliver Queen’s return, the most tragic of Starling City’s first families has something to celebrate this Christmas. That’s why everyone is expecting their holiday gala on Saturday night to be the event of the year. Invitations are already highly prized for the first Christmas party in five years at the Queen mansion. 

Wall Street Journal, December 17, 2012  
 **Queen Consolidated Seeks Stability** (excerpts)

Although the beleaguered company saw a brief rise to their stock prices with the return of Oliver Queen, they have returned to previous levels. Although current CEO Walter Steele has held down the fort--and is married to Moira Dearden Queen--clearly investors want a Queen to head up the company.

Wired, December 2012  
 **All We Want for Christmukkah** (excerpts)

 ** _A new book from Felicity Smoak_** : You could count on the brainy Smoak to give you a new perspective on technology, whether she was examining the inner workings of corporate tech giants or speculating about where the field should go. But it’s been five years and other than a few articles, including one of our personal favorites (Wired, July 2010), there’s been little from our tech goddess. So in 2013, here’s hoping we get word about something new from Ms. Smoak!

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thankful for everyone reading this fic! I hope you continue to enjoy it. :-)

Starling City Examiner, January 4, 2013  
 **The Hood: Friend or Foe?**

As the hooded vigilante fights back against the fat cats and elites who have gotten away with their crimes, Starling City is left to ask: who is the real criminal and who are the real victims here? The police and judges who can’t or won’t put away these criminals . . . or the guy in the hood who’s responsible for a five percent drop in crime in the Glades?

Starling City Tattler, March 5, 2013  
 **Newest Fashion Accessory: Hoods!**

Eye on Starling blog, April 2, 2013  
 **The Queen Family: From Tragedy to Triumph?**

Starling City Times, April 29, 2013  
 **Business Wire**

Transfer: One quarter ownership of the nightclub Verdant from Oliver Queen to Thomas Merlyn. This makes Mr. Merlyn the majority owner of the club, as well as its manager. Mr. Queen is rumored to be focusing on other business opportunities and sought to minimize his role in Verdant.

Starling City Times, June 5, 2013  
 **Restoring the Glades: What Next?** (excerpts)

It may seem petty to be wrangling over such details, when so many lives were lost during the event called ‘the Undertaking’. But in the aftermath of the destruction of several blocks of the Glades, the most pressing question is who pays for the expensive rebuilding of Starling City? Should it be the Queen family, after matriarch Moira Queen admitted to having played a part in the events that lead up to the destruction? Even though she was not found criminally responsible, there are already seventeen civil cases pending against Queen. Or should the blame be laid at the feet of Malcolm Merlyn, who was accused by Queen of being the architect of the Undertaking? 

XXX

The sound of a plane flying overhead made Oliver’s head jerk up. Dropping the arrow he had been sharpening, he stood and swept his eyes over the sky as his ears tried to determine where the plane was. 

The engine noise meant only one thing: his ride was here. 

It was time to go back to Starling. Even if he wasn’t sure he was ready to go back. Ready to face everything he left behind. Ready to be a disappointment again. 

But that had been the deal Diggle had made with him: he could have two months. Two months to “get your damn head on straight,” in his partner’s words. And then, Oliver had to come back to Starling City and pick up his life again. 

Swallowing, Oliver began gathering his supplies and loading them into a knapsack. He wasn’t quite sure what Digg expected him to do, how he thought Oliver would be better now. Because Oliver had failed. He hadn’t been able to stop the Undertaking, hadn’t been able to save the hundred people who had died in the Glades . . . 

Hadn’t been able to save Tommy. 

His best friend. The man who was like a brother to him. One of only two people to know that Oliver Queen was also the Hood. And now Tommy only had one leg.

The night of the Undertaking, Tommy had been at Verdant. He hadn’t listened when Oliver told him to get out of the Glades. A beam had fallen, crushing his leg and causing major internal bleeding. Oliver had managed to get him out in time, before another aftershock could have done even worse, but . . . but that wasn’t enough. 

After a week, once he knew that Tommy would live, Oliver had left. Had fled, really, back to Lian Yu, back to a place that made sense to him. Only Digg’s intervention before he left had kept Oliver from leaving Starling forever. 

_“Oliver, you’re feeling guilty right now, and I get that,” Digg said, his voice low as they stood in the hallway of Starling General Hospital. “But you have to get past it. It was Tommy’s choice to stay at Verdant. It’s not your fault.”_

_“It is!” he hissed. “If it wasn’t for me--”_

_“He would have died. A lot more people woulda died, if it wasn’t for you getting the earthquake machine dismantled,” Digg replied. “You have to remember that.”_

_He shook his head. “I . . . I need to go.”_

_Digg stayed silent, but his expression said it all. There was understanding there, but also a healthy dose of disappointment and doubt. “You sure about that, Oliver? Leave Thea alone like that? Let Tommy recover on his own?”_

_“They’ll be better off without me,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “And you’ll be here for Thea.”_

_“Oh, I will?” Digg asked, raising an eyebrow._

_Oliver looked at Digg, and the other man sighed after a moment. “All right, I’ll stay. But on one condition.”_

_Even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like this condition, Oliver nodded. “What is it?”_

_Digg paused. “You get two months. Two months to figure out what you’ve gotta figure out, get your head on straight, and then I’m bringing you back. Hogtied, if necessary.”_

_Two months wasn’t a lot of time. He didn’t think it would be enough, but he knew Digg wouldn’t give him one day more._

_So Oliver had only nodded and left without another word._

Stepping into the crashed plane that had been his shelter during all his stays on the island, Oliver gathered his remaining supplies. Last of all, he tucked the notebooks and pencils he had brought with him into a plastic bag and settled them on top of everything else. Lifting the strap of his quiver and settling it on his shoulder, he carried his knapsack and bow down to the beach.

Most people would think he was crazy, returning to Lian Yu. Some days, he was fairly sure he was. Yet . . . yet somehow, it made sense. Maybe it was because he knew he was here willingly, that he had the supplies he needed to survive, or the simple fact that he would only be here two months. But he had found unexpected clarity here. 

He knew what he needed to do now. Tommy had called him a killer, a murderer. Was that what he wanted to be? Was that the way to save Starling City? After the Undertaking . . . it wasn’t the right way. Not anymore. He had to be better. And not just as the Hood, but as Oliver, too. 

For starters, he had to stop pretending to be the old Ollie. It was more trouble than it was worth. Back in the days when he didn’t know what he wanted, who he was, it wasn’t a big deal to act the playboy. But now--he was different. He had an identity. One that no one could know about, one that he had to keep secret. But there were better ways of keeping Oliver Queen from being linked to the Hood. 

Even if he was taking on a persona that was a bit closer to who he really was. 

It was risky. There would be questions asked, explanations to give. And more than that . . . it would make him vulnerable. Because the world accepted Oliver Queen as a spoiled, woman-chasing playboy. It was a useful image, one that deflected attention from him. 

Would they accept Oliver Queen, writer?

A real writer. Not the shit he had thrown together and put out as _The Frat Boy Way_. But actual writing. Seeing if he really did have potential.

Just the word was enough to take him back to that day in December, eight months ago. Running into Felicity, listening to her talk about how she was trying to move on from her attack . . . hearing her say that she still thought he had talent. 

Her words held an unexpected power over him--a magnetic pull, drawing something out of him that he didn’t know he had. He’d never met anyone who could do that to him, and it made him want to get as far away from Felicity Smoak as possible--while at the same time, he wanted to move in closer and see what else she had to say. 

It was why he hadn’t asked for her number, or offered his own. Yet every time he stepped into Jitters, he swept his eyes over the crowd, looking for her. But he never saw her again. Not in Jitters, not around the Glades . . . 

And then the Undertaking had happened, and he had run away. But her words had stuck with him, and at the last minute he had jammed some writing materials in with his supplies. And that notebook had become even more important than the one he had received from his father. 

Oliver wasn’t sure if he had gotten his head on straight. But the solitude of Lian Yu had let him discover that maybe Felicity could be right about him. Or maybe it was more he wanted her to be right. He wanted to think he was more than what he had been. Wanted to be more like the man Felicity saw, even if he didn’t understand how she could see anything good in him at all. 

It was time to find out just who he could be. 

XXX

At this moment, Felicity was really wishing she was home. Surrounded by books, with her laptop and tablet keeping her company and a movie she had seen eighty million times playing on the TV. That would be awesome. 

Unlike this very awkward dinner. And the sad thing was, she could only blame herself for being here, since tonight had been her idea in the first place. 

But the last thing she had expected was for dinner with the Lance sisters and their father to be so . . . fraught. 

In all the years that Felicity had known Laurel, she had never come back to Starling City. In Felicity’s opinion, it was a real shame, because it meant Sara and Captain Lance only had each other, in good times and bad, and there were enough times that Sara and her father were on the outs that they didn’t even have each other. One Christmas, Felicity thought that Captain Lance had visited Laurel in New York, but as far as Felicity knew, this was the first time the three Lances had been together in many years. 

So why didn’t they seem happier? Why weren’t they talking more? Was it because of Felicity’s presence? 

Taking a sip of her wine, Felicity once again wished she was at home. She’d take staring at her computer screen, trying to figure out what she was going to write now and wondering if Oliver Queen had magical powers that let him help blocked writers figure out how to write. Like an author whisperer or something. 

Her cheeks went a bit pink and she swapped her wine glass for some water, then focused on finishing her plate of angel hair pasta. 

Part of the reason for tonight’s dinner, other than the Lance family reunion, was to celebrate the forthcoming publication of Felicity’s new book. Not that it was really new; it was mostly the articles she had written over the years. The only thing that was really new was the foreword she had written. The foreword that had only seemed possible thanks to Oliver. 

Something about talking to him, that day in Jitters, had removed the stopper from her words. Gave her the insight to talk about herself in a way she never had before--to have herself be the subject of her writing. She couldn’t claim to be an expert on healing or living your life, but she thought that she had put together some words that could help people like her. People that found themselves in a dark place but who wanted to find the light again. Wanted to be positive that good things could happen--that people could be good, more often than not. 

She couldn’t explain how that one conversation with Oliver had changed things. Whatever it was, it had been fleeting and ephemeral, because now that she was attempting to start a new book, she was back at square one again. 

It wasn’t like there weren’t topics that interested her: there was the e-reader wars, something that could easily turn into a bigger discussion about similar tech battles like Beta vs. VHS and Blu-Ray vs. DVD-HD. Or there was social media and how it was shaping culture, or the mainstreaming of geek culture, or the Kickstarter effect on new technology development . . . Laurel and Ex Astris were begging her to choose anything, to give them something that they could use to start publicizing her return, but she just had . . . nothing. 

“So, Felicity, how’s the writing coming? Since you said this new book isn’t really new.” 

Captain Lance sounded a bit strained, like he was trying to take the pressure off his attempts at conversation with his daughters--the attempts that kept dying. But his question made Felicity want to crawl under the table. Especially when Laurel looked at her, her lips pursed.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too, since you’ve been tap-dancing around the subject ever since I arrived in town,” Laurel said. 

While Felicity had tried to balance her wine with glasses of water, Laurel hadn’t done the same. It made Captain Lance worry, Felicity knew, based on the looks he had been throwing his oldest daughter. 

Pasting a smile on her face, Felicity focused on Captain Lance. “It’s good. I’m doing research right now, trying to figure out how to top _Treehouse_.” 

“You’ll find something,” Sara said, patting Felicity’s shoulder. “You’ve got so many ideas.” 

“That’s kind of the problem,” Felicity said, trying to laugh and make it sound like a joke. Like she wasn’t worrying as much as--or more than--Laurel. “There’s just so many different directions I could take.” 

“You’re gonna have to pick something soon,” Laurel said before draining her wine. “I told you what Martha said.” 

It was hard not to wince, but she managed to hold it back. Yes, Laurel had told her what Martha Ellis, the publisher in charge of Ex Astris, had said. She didn’t like to think about it, but it was clear that Ex Astris was feeling the pressure and they weren’t willing to carry an author who wasn’t producing. 

Felicity had always thought that she responded well to pressure. But maybe that was a quality she had lost over the last five years, something she just couldn’t do anymore. 

Captain Lance leaned over towards Laurel, resting his hand on her shoulder and speaking quietly in her ear. Laurel frowned and looked down at the table, then took a deep breath and picked up her glass of water, sipping it slowly. 

“How about dessert?” Sara asked, her voice hopeful. “Laurel, they’ve got tiramisu on the menu. It’s still your favorite, right?” 

Seeing Laurel nod and manage a weak smile made Felicity feel hopeful, too. Perhaps things would be okay with the Lances. All three of them were important to her, and she wanted them to be happy. To be a family.

In the meanwhile, Felicity resolved that she _would_ make a decision about her next book. It was the least she could do. And if taking some of the pressure off Laurel helped her enjoy her visit to Starling City more, so much the better. 

So with that resolve, Felicity made her excuses and let the Lances enjoy dessert together. And while she walked home, she sorted through her ideas and tried to tell herself that one of them could actually work for her next book. 

But Felicity couldn’t help thinking that she was fooling herself.

XXX

Publisher’s Weekly, August 26, 2013  
 **Forthcoming: Stray Wires by Felicity Smoak**

This collection of previously-published essays and articles by Smoak, the tech evangelist, features only one piece of new writing: a foreword that’s reputed to discuss the brutal attack that’s kept her from publishing for five years. Early buzz is mixed on the collection as a whole, but those few who have seen this new work says that it’s a remarkable change for Smoak.

Star City Books, September newsletter  
 **Coming Next Month . . .**

\--Signings with Liane Moriarty ( _The Husband’s Secret_ ), Ian Doescher ( _William Shakespeare’s Star Wars_ ) and Starling City’s own Felicity Smoak ( _Stray Wires_ )

XXX

As he stepped into the lounge, Oliver felt the tension in his shoulders twist a little tighter. His mother had always claimed they were a family, with the same traditions and rituals as any other group of people related by blood. But Oliver had never agreed with that. His family, even before the island . . . they weren’t much of a family. He loved his mother, and he’d do anything for Thea, but something had always seemed to be missing. 

So having Moira tell him they were having a family dinner tonight, to celebrate his return to Starling, just made him nervous. Especially when she said she had invited Tommy. 

Oliver had been back for a week and he still hadn’t seen Tommy. They had texted, of course, but it definitely wasn’t the same thing. Because it was easy to hide how you really felt in texts. And he knew his mother had noticed that he wasn’t spending time with Tommy. Thea had noticed, too, going by the ass-chewing she had given him last night. 

Heading over to the drinks table, Oliver poured himself a whisky and took a deep breath. This last year hadn’t been good. He’d made mistakes. A lot of them. All the ways he was broken kept finding new ways to come out, new ways to mess up all that he was trying to build. But he could fix things. Be better. 

At least he knew Tommy hadn’t told anyone about Oliver’s other identity. His best friend might be angry at him--he was furious, most likely. But Tommy wasn’t spiteful enough to reveal a secret that wasn’t his to tell. 

“Drinking already, Ollie? It’s tough being back in the bosom of your family, I guess.” 

Thea’s voice was mocking, the sarcasm laid on thick. While he had used a playboy facade to hide what he really felt, Thea had always used sarcasm and a flippant attitude. In a twelve-year-old, it had been amusing. In an eighteen-year-old, it wasn’t so amusing. Because Thea had spent the years while he was gone building those defenses and making them strong--particularly over the two months he had been gone. 

He understood it. But he didn’t like it. 

“I’m just nervous about tonight,” he said quietly, looking at his little sister. “Seeing Tommy again . . . having to explain myself.” 

“This is gonna be a night of firsts, then,” Thea said, folding her arms across her chest. “I wish I had popcorn.” 

“I don’t. You’d just throw it at me,” Oliver said. He smiled a little, trying to break down her walls a little. “You always did that during movies.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was a kid then.” 

Moving closer to her, Oliver looked down at Thea. “I know. But if you want to prove that, there’s only one solution.” 

“And what’s that, Ollie?” Thea asked, her eyebrow quirking up.

“Go to a movie with me and eat the popcorn instead of throwing it at me.” 

There was something about seeing his sister’s face light up for a split second, getting a glimpse of the Thea he remembered, that made his heart soften. Made him feel for a moment that maybe having hope wasn’t a stupid idea. That it was possible to fix the mistakes he had made.

“I guess so,” Thea said, acting casual. 

But Oliver could see right through her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “This weekend, okay?”

She nodded, leaning against him a little. “Okay.” They both turned as the familiar click-clack of heels heralded the approach of their mother.

“I’ve missed seeing this,” Moira said, smiling at them. “Both my children, looking happy.” 

“Enjoy it, because I’m sure I’ll do something that pisses Thea off sooner or later,” Oliver joked, feeling his spirits as high as they had been since his second return to Starling. 

Thea nodded and Moira chuckled softly, only for her smile to fade as she looked at Oliver. “I was expecting Tommy by now . . .” 

Oliver tried not to stiffen. “Oh. Let me just--” He pulled out his phone and saw he had received a text message. His stomach sank as he read the message from Tommy.

“He said he’s not feeling very well this evening,” Oliver said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I guess it’ll just be the three of us.” 

Moira turned to make herself a drink. “I can’t say I’m terribly upset by that . . . even though I love Tommy as much as you both.”

Taking a breath, Oliver nodded. “I’ll catch up with him later. Tell him what I’m telling you both tonight.” 

His mother looked curious, and Thea pulled away from him. “What’s going on, Ollie?”

He lifted his glass and finished his whisky, then set aside the empty glass, knowing that he was stalling but needing the time. “Mom, I know you’ve been wanting me to take more of a role in Queen Consolidated . . .”

His mother sighed heavily. “It’s getting beyond a matter of wanting and becoming a near-necessity, Oliver. It was by mere luck alone that Malcolm Merlyn’s earthquake machine failed and there wasn’t a higher death toll in the Glades. And I still have the blame for those deaths, even if the grand jury didn’t agree,” she said, her voice sounding tight and worried. “The last thing the shareholders want is for me to run Queen Consolidated.” 

“I know, Mom,” Oliver said, reaching out to touch her arm. “But having me as CEO . . . that would be throwing gasoline on a fire. I don’t have any experience, I don’t have the instincts. Anyone could do a better job than me--and there’s a lot of people who could be excellent CEOs.” He paused. “People like Walter.” 

“Oliver,” Moira said, closing her eyes at the mention of her soon-to-be-ex-husband. 

“He turned down the job, so I’ve already asked him to put together a search committee to find a new CEO,” Oliver said. “He agreed without reservations--he’s just waiting for my word to get started.” He waited for her to open her eyes and he did his best to smile at her. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but--” 

Moira shook her head. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you and Thea to be happy.” 

“That’s why I can’t be CEO, Mom,” he said quietly, trying not to reveal his reaction to the concern and worry he saw in her eyes. “It wouldn’t make me happy. Not when I know what I want to do.” 

“You do?” Moira asked, looking pleasantly surprised.

Thea literally blinked and put her hands on her hips. “You want to do something different from what you’ve been doing, right? I mean, you wouldn’t be doing all this if you’re just gonna keep being the _Tattler_ ’s favorite subject, right?” 

The moment of levity made Oliver relax for a moment, shooting Thea a small grin. “I know it’s a lot for you to live up to--” 

The slug in the shoulder he got from Thea was surprisingly strong and he lifted his eyebrows at her. She shrugged and said, “So? What’s going on?”

This was it. The nerves that had been a low-level hum within him suddenly became a crashing orchestra. It was time for him to reveal the only part of himself that he could share with his family . . . and the importance of this moment made his hands feel a bit clammy. 

And then the image of Felicity, sitting across from him in Jitters and saying that she still thought he had potential, popped into his mind. And Oliver found that the words fell from his lips as easy as raindrops from a cloud.

“Mom, Thea . . . I’m going to be a writer.” 

XXX

With a sniff, Felicity turned the last page in her book and snuggled down in her couch. There were few things she loved more than those moments right after she had finished reading a book, when she could savor the emotions that the book produced within her. Especially when she was left crying happy tears. 

As a way to take her mind off her own research, Felicity had gone through a small stack of books that had been sent for blurbing. To her surprise, she had found a novel in the pile, and something had made her dive into it. It was nice to read a novel--she didn’t read nearly enough fiction. And it took her back to when she was little and had devoured the story books and novels she had checked out from the library. 

The ringing of her phone cut through her happy moment, making her scramble to find her cell. To her surprise, it was her mother.

It was hard for Felicity to understand her mother. Especially in the first few years after the attack. Because Donna Smoak had seen heartbreak, but . . . she had never let it break her completely. She had just kept smiling, kept acting like the same giddy, happy person that she had always been, never minding that she totally embodied the stereotype of a Vegas cocktail waitress. As a mother, she wasn’t much for rules or structure; Felicity had come up with those on her own. So whenever the Smoak women saw each other, it usually turned into Donna encouraging Felicity to shorten her skirts, raise her heels, and ‘live a little!’ 

Yet her mother had been someone she had been thinking about a lot in the last year. Ever since the end of the trial, ever since Felicity had decided she didn’t want what had happened to her to define her. Ever since she had decided to actually take her mother’s advice and live a little. 

So she didn’t mind her post-novel savoring being interrupted. “Hi, Mom,” she said, hearing the fading remains of tears in her voice. 

“Oh, Felicity, are you getting a cold? I saw on the news that Starling City is having a very cold summer.” 

“No, I’m fine. I just finished reading a book and I got a little sniffly,” Felicity said, leaning back against the couch cushions. “It was just so good that I couldn’t help crying.”

Through the phone, the sound of cars and an occasional burst of louder electronic beeps, bells and whistles came through. Felicity guessed her mother was on a break and had stepped outside of the casino, but was still close enough to the entrance for the slot machine noises to drift towards her whenever the doors opened. Closing her eyes, Felicity pictured her mother in her mind: the blonde hair, the short tight dress, the perfectly-applied makeup. 

“You never cried at movies or TV shows--just books,” Donna said. “I never understood that. I was bawling during _Titanic_ and you were nitpicking the way the boat was sinking.” 

“Oh, don’t remind me, Mom,” Felicity said, trying to smile. “How are you doing? How are tips lately?” 

“Lousy--the only big convention right now is some comic book thing and although they drink a lot, they’re not exactly high rollers,” Donna said, blowing out a breath. “I hate Vegas in August.” 

Biting her lip, Felicity considered the thought that just popped into her mind. “You . . . you could go on vacation,” she said, not sure she was ready to necessarily invite her mother to visit her. But she was sure that with how hard her mother worked, Donna deserved a vacation. 

“I wish I could, but the rent just went up and my car’s making a lot of funny noises,” Donna said, sounding reluctant. 

Felicity knew Donna didn’t want her to feel guilty, but it was hard not to. Her mother had dropped everything to come help in the aftermath of Felicity’s attack--and had gotten fired for it. It had taken six months before she had found another job. And there was no way Felicity could help her mother, like she had done occasionally back in the days when she had more than enough money for herself. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” Donna said. “What’s going on with you? You never post anything interesting on your Facebook page.” 

“You read my Facebook page?” Felicity asked in surprise. “I mean, it’s more for professional networking and connecting with my fans, not for sharing personal photos and talking about myself . . .”

Donna let out a noise that sounded frustrated. “Felicity, sometimes it feels like the only things I know about you are whatever’s in your books! And I don’t understand all your techy-tech stuff, but I’ve still read every one of them because I want to know you.” 

Blinking, Felicity sat up straight, feeling the stirrings of all her insecurities, both old and new. “What are you saying, Mom?” Her voice sounded cold and hard, and she didn’t like that. Giving her head a shake, she tried to make herself sound less icy. “I just mean, what do you want to know?” 

There was a long pause. It wasn’t often that Felicity asked her mother for advice, and the fact that Donna didn’t have an immediate response made her think that her mother was weighing her words carefully.

“I just . . . I think you’re more than what you’ve done so far. That treehouse book, that was pretty close. But the best thing you’ve ever written was that bit from that book of articles, talking about how you’re trying to move on. That--that made me so proud of you.” 

Felicity could hear a small sniff as her mother finished speaking. Her own throat had closed up and it took her swallowing hard to be able to talk. “Really?”

“Really. You should do more things like that.” Donna paused. “And you should open up more and tell people stuff about yourself. Let them in.” 

She pulled a leg in against her chest, wrapping an arm around it. “I’ll think about it.” That was all she could say, really. Because . . . because she didn’t want to reveal just how scared she was at the thought of letting strangers in like that. People who would criticize and mock the smallest decision or most insignificant aspect of her life, as well as the important things. She wasn’t sure she had healed enough for that. 

But . . . but really, her mother was saying all this because she wanted to know what was going on in Felicity’s life. She could do that. Without having to post it on Facebook or tweet or anything.

“Guess what, Mom?” Felicity asked, hoping she sounded more upbeat. “You’re not the only blonde Smoak anymore.” 

A squeal that was practically super-sonic made Felicity pull the phone away from her ear with a laugh. “You dyed your hair?!? You need to send me a picture! And then post it so everyone can see how gorgeous you look!”

Smiling, Felicity ducked her head and listened as her mother talked, and she promised to send Donna a picture as soon as they got off the phone, and through it all . . . she wondered if she should take this latest piece of her mother’s advice. 

End, Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you might be disappointed by how Oliver and Felicity’s paths don’t cross in this chapter, but there were some pieces that had to get put into place for the rest of the story. Don’t worry, there will be another meeting in chapter 3. And it's a good one. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write--I hope you enjoy reading it! If you’re interested, I talk a lot about Arrow and give previews of what I’m working on at my [Tumblr](http://dettiot.tumblr.com). So drop by if you do the Tumblr thing. (It was so hard to not make a Culture Club reference right there, but I try to be original in my pop culture references. [grin])

Starling City Examiner, October 14, 2013  
 **Book Talk with . . . Felicity Smoak**

**Q** : What’s next for you?  
 **A** : Right now, I’m glad to be out talking to people about _Stray Wires_. I have a signing at Star City Books this weekend, and since it’s one of my favorite bookstores in the whole world, it’ll be tough to leave without buying a few books for myself. And I’m beginning work on my next book.

**Q** : Any hints about what it’s about?  
 **A** : It’s a really fascinating topic--the way technology keeps setting up two rivals, having them go head-to-head and seeing which one wins--and why. I had no idea that VHS won out over Betamax because of the porn industry! Not . . . not that I’m very knowledgeable about porn. It’s just what I’ve learned as I’ve started researching.

Starling City Times, October 16, 2013  
 **Social News: Blood & Queen Benefit This Saturday**

One of the events of this fall will happen on Saturday, when the scion of one of Starling’s first families joins forces with a passionate political newcomer, all in hopes of improving the lot of the Glades. Oliver Queen lends the power of his name while Sebastian Blood provides the public relations acumen for the Glades Gala, to be held at the Starling Grand Hotel. 

XXX

“Well, we have a lot of work ahead of us.” 

Isabel Rochev’s voice was tart, the implication that she was understating things coming through loud and clear. It made Oliver grit his teeth as he stood outside Verdant. But Isabel was one of the best literary agents around--she was focused and intense and she knew how to do her job. The last thing Oliver wanted to worry about was the business side of his new career--as strange as it was to say that he had a career.

“I realize that, Isabel. I appreciate you being willing to work with me again,” Oliver said, trying to sound grateful. “And I’m sure with your help, this new book will be a success.”

“We’ll see,” Isabel said noncommittally. “You’ve sent me everything?” 

He nodded. “I know it’s rough, but . . .”

“But there’s something here,” Isabel said. “So I’ll start making some discreet calls. Clearly you don’t care if there’s a bidding war--Oliver Queen’s not doing this for the money.” 

“No,” Oliver said, pausing. “But I am interested in approaching Ex Astris first.” 

Isabel sighed heavily. “No, you aren’t. They’re floundering. On the verge of collapse.”

“They took a chance on me. I’m willing to repay that favor,” Oliver said. He wasn’t going to back down on this. Ex Astris deserved to have first crack at publishing him again. 

“Fine,” Isabel said. “I’ll call you in a few days.” And with that, she hung up. 

Oliver pocketed his phone and looked up at Verdant. In the middle of the day, the club had a very different vibe than it did at night. He had forgotten that. But then, it had been a while since he had come here. After Tommy had discovered the truth about the Hood, Oliver had let Tommy buy most of his remaining shares in the club. It just seemed . . . easier. 

His best friend had seemed determined to cut Oliver out of his life--not that Oliver could blame him. He had never lied to Tommy before, after all. 

_Not true. You lied about Felicity._

Frowning, Oliver wondered where that thought had come from. Perhaps he hadn’t fully revealed everything he thought about Felicity when he first met her, but that wasn’t a lie, was it? 

Okay, so maybe he had lied occasionally to Tommy. But concealing the truth about his nighttime affairs--that was a lie so immense, it was little wonder that Tommy needed time to deal with it. 

Especially since his disappearance after the Undertaking hadn’t helped matters, either. Because Oliver had been home a solid month and Tommy had ducked out on every single occasion that might let them interact. He’d either ignored Oliver’s texts and calls suggesting meeting up for dinner or drinks, or he’d agreed to dinners at the Queen mansion only to cancel at the last minute. 

That was why Oliver was here today, at Verdant. According to Thea, Tommy was supposed to be coming here before heading to a physical therapy appointment. If he kept refusing to see him, Oliver was going to force the issue. Out of all the mistakes he had made, losing his best friend wasn’t going to be one of them. Maybe if they were on Tommy’s turf, he’d be willing to talk to Oliver a little. Enough for Oliver to start repairing the damage he had created. 

He was really starting to regret selling Tommy his shares in the club. Not only because it removed a way that would have forced them to talk, but because he knew being in charge with no help put a lot of pressure on Tommy’s shoulders, now that he . . . 

The sound of wheels on pavement made Oliver turn around, to get his first look in three months at his best friend. 

Taking in the sight of Tommy in a wheelchair, his face thinner than it used to be, missing the vitality that used to make his friend seem so alive . . . and worst of all was seeing the left pant leg of Tommy’s jeans hang loose and empty. It hurt. Guilt, shame, anger--they all rolled through him, making his stomach clench and his fingers rub together. If there was a way to put an arrow in himself, Oliver would do it right now. 

“Oliver Queen.” Tommy’s voice was dark and mocking. “I gotta say, I’m surprised you’re still trying.” 

“Tommy,” Oliver said, stopping to suck in air after realizing he had been holding his breath. “I--I’m sorry.” 

A quiet snort was Tommy’s only response at first, as he started slowly pushing his wheelchair towards the door of Verdant. “Of course you are, Oliver,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re sorry about everything.”

Oliver opened his mouth to say . . . something. He didn’t know what, exactly, but he couldn’t just let Tommy go like that, could he? But his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground and the words just wouldn’t come. So he just watched as Tommy manhandled his way into Verdant, the door shutting behind him and his wheelchair. 

There was no sense of time passing; he could have stood there for a minute or an hour. But slowly, he realized that Tommy was in no mood to talk yet, and there was nothing he could do to change that. The distance between them, it wasn’t going to be fixed with one conversation. It was going to take a lot of work for them to be friends again. Work that Oliver wasn’t sure he knew how to do. Especially with Tommy unwilling to help him. 

His feet began moving, carrying him away from Verdant. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he didn’t pay much mind to where he went. Oliver tried to untangle his thoughts, only to blow out a breath and give up after he just kept coming back to the one thing he knew: Tommy hated him. 

It made him feel like something was wrong with the world. There was no one on Earth that he was closer to than Tommy. Although . . . was that true anymore? 

The thought was so troubling that Oliver felt himself grow even more morose. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone stumble, on the verge of falling right in front of him. Instinctively, his hands reached out and caught the slight shoulders of the blonde woman, feeling the strangest sensation in his fingertips as they made contact with her--

“Felicity?” 

XXX

Clearly, there was something about Jitters that created ridiculous, embarrassing situations. Because how else to explain that every time she came here, something happened that made her wish a giant black hole would open underneath her and take her far, far away? 

The first time, the lid on the sugar shaker was loose and fell into her cup of coffee, yielding a drink that was too sweet even for Felicity. But the staff had been super-nice and upgraded her grande to a venti for free as an apology. And with how good the coffee was, that was _very_ nice. But she had felt a bit guilty, cheating on her normal coffee place, and she thought this was the way the universe agreeing with her. So she had gone back to her normal place, until it had to close for renovations.

On her second visit to Jitters, Oliver Queen had found her and bought her coffee and looked at her with those eyes of his and . . .

At least she hadn’t completely embarrassed herself. But still, it was an awkward encounter, one that she was determined not to repeat, even if she really really _really_ wanted to figure out why spending time with Oliver had made her writing come so easily. It wasn’t like he had talked all that much and they certainly hadn’t discussed her work. So why was just being around him enough?

And then there was today. 

Sara had been encouraging her to learn self-defense for ages, but Felicity had kept putting her off. But when Sara picked up a part-time job, teaching at a dojo in the Glades, it became impossible to keep making excuses. So two times a week, Felicity attended Sara’s class, sweating and nervous and uncertain the whole time. 

The only plus had been the dojo’s proximity to Jitters. But it wasn’t until the third week of classes, i.e. today, that Felicity had been willing to consider that maybe, just maybe, Jitters and her weren’t cursed to be forever apart. 

Clearly, she should have gone with her first instinct. Because as she had been walking out of the shop, an extra-delicious latte clutched in one hand while she fumbled in her purse for her phone, she stumbled when her foot hit a puddle and her worn-out sneakers skidded out from under her. 

There wasn’t even enough time for her to mourn losing her latte before firm, warm hands were gripping her shoulders, keeping her from slamming flat on her back. She was so surprised she wasn’t in immense pain that it took her a moment to realize her hero had said her name. 

“Oliver?” she asked, blinking up at him and marveling at his upper-body strength, because he was holding her up like she was as light as a feather and that was perhaps only thirty percent true. 

His lips quirked up and he nodded. “Yeah. Are you okay? Can you stand up?” 

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she nodded quickly and Oliver helped her get steady on her feet. His eyes ran over her and Felicity really wished for that black hole now, because a faded MIT t-shirt and yoga pants weren’t exactly the clothes you’d want to wear when meeting a very hot, very rich man. Not that either of those things mattered since it was Oliver and he was just being nice and . . . and he seemed to be nice to her a lot. 

Felicity closed her eyes tightly and gave her head a small shake. No. She wasn’t going to think like that, not with Oliver standing in front of her and probably thinking she was a moron who couldn’t walk properly. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and gave him a grateful smile as she adjusted her glasses. “Thank you so much. I didn’t even spill my latte.” 

His lips might have twitched, as if he was trying to hold back an actual smile or even laughter, but maybe it was just her imagination. Because he just nodded and said lightly, “And you wouldn’t have liked that.” 

“Not even a little bit,” she said, taking a quick sip to thank the coffee for its bravery and self-sacrifice, then focused on Oliver. 

Oddly enough, she thought he looked less . . . less sad. When she saw him back in December, there seemed to be a weight on his shoulders that he was barely carrying. Now, even though he still seemed like Atlas in human form, it was different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it made her feel happy for him. 

“How are you doing?” she asked, curious about how he’d respond to her question. 

Those frankly magnificent shoulders of his shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said. “About normal, I guess.” Then he frowned a little and shrugged again. 

God, he was driving her crazy. Because here she was, thinking he seemed like he was doing well, and now she was questioning that assumption. It made her want to do _something_. Anything to figure him out. 

“I feel like I should buy you a coffee,” Felicity said. “As a thanks for the rescue. Or at least to pay you back for the last time I saw you.” She left unsaid the biggest favor: helping her with the foreword, even though he didn’t realize he had and she didn’t know how he had done it. 

Oliver waved a hand in the air, but not in a dismissive way. “It was my pleasure,” he said, his eyes locking on hers. 

“One of these days, I will pay up for all these favors, because that’s my pleasure,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, Oliver’s eyebrows went up and Felicity felt her entire body flush. “I mean, because it’s not fair for you to buy me coffee and keep me from breaking my back--the least I could do is buy you coffee, because it’s no trouble, although maybe you’re on your way someplace and I’m making you late by babbling like this and--”

“Felicity,” he said, gently interrupting her and whoa, he had taken a step or two closer to her and she was not prepared to be that close to him. He could probably smell her stinky sweat from self-defense class!

With all her strength, Felicity pressed her lips together and stayed quiet. That little half-smile flashed across his face. “It’s fine. I was just happy to keep you from breaking your back.” 

Swallowing, she managed a little smile at him. “My hero.” 

She didn’t know why that made him take several steps back from her. “You’re okay?” he said, edging away. “I’m sorry, I do have to get going . . .”

“Go, go,” she said, shooing him along. “We’ll catch up another time.” She hesitated, wondering if she should do it, but then, she had already done plenty to make herself look like a fool--what was one more thing? And he was being nice enough to wait for her to make up her mind, so Felicity took a chance.

Rummaging in her bag, she yanked out a card. “I’m doing a signing at Star City Books next week. If you’re free . . . I hope you’ll come.” 

The look on Oliver’s face was indecipherable. But he took the invitation, nodding a little. “Thank you, Felicity.” 

“You’re welcome,” Felicity said, edging back from him as the sudden desire to get far away from him reasserted itself. “So, you have places to go and so do I, so . . . bye!” 

And like that, she turned on her heel and walked away--in the wrong direction, not that he knew that, thank God--like a legitimately crazy person. But each step took her out of the fog that being in Oliver Queen’s presence seemed to plunge her into. 

That was a good thing, right?

XXX

China White was attacking medicine delivery trucks, leaving hospitals critically under-supplied with painkillers. Meanwhile, the police’s newest effort to unmask him, especially after the copycat vigilantes’ reign of terror, were severely affecting his work as the Arrow. To cut off Sebastian Blood’s criticism of the elite of Starling--and Oliver in particular--he had agreed to help Sebastian put on a benefit for the Glades, which required plenty of planning. His family’s company was on the verge of ruin, Isabel was already pressing him to begin revising the rough draft of his book, Tommy was still ducking him at every turn, and there was a blonde female vigilante popping up in the Glades. 

In short, there was plenty to keep his mind busy, in both of his identities. So fixating on Felicity’s invitation to her book signing was . . . hard to reconcile.

Something about her, with her glasses and bright nails and smiles, made him able to relax. Let something inside himself uncoil. And it only seemed to happen around her. Maybe it was the babbling, or how she took him on his own terms--except that wasn’t true, because otherwise, she wouldn’t have invited him to her book signing, after he had never made any efforts to maintain contact with her. Unless she was trying to stir up some extra publicity for herself--

Shaking his head, Oliver put down the invitation and pushed away from the desk. No, that wasn’t something Felicity would do. He might not know her very well, but . . . but he knew that much. 

“Ready to go?” Digg asked, waiting at the edge of the mat with two staffs. There seemed to be something in his voice, something Oliver couldn’t quite figure out. So he ignored it and rose to his feet, catching the staff after Diggle tossed it to him. 

“Ready,” he said, saluting his partner and then beginning his attack. 

But his feet were slow and his strikes were weak. They went for ten minutes and there were too many close calls. When he just barely managed to avoid the blow from Digg’s staff for the third time, Oliver took a step back, breathing deeply as he tried to recenter himself. 

“You seem off tonight, man,” Diggle said, moving around the edge of the training mat. “‘Cause I know I’m not this good.” 

“You’ve gotten better,” Oliver argued, although not exactly strenuously. Digg’s look said that he wasn’t buying what Oliver was selling, so Oliver just nodded a little. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot on my mind.” 

“Like the blonde?” 

It took a lot for him to not parrot Diggle’s words due to his surprise. But Oliver felt a sense of dread as Digg walked over to his suit jacket and pulled out a folded-up copy of the _Tattler_. 

“Never thought I’d read this, but Carly and A.J. get a kick out of seeing me in the background of your paparazzi shots,” Digg said, walking over towards Oliver and holding the paper out. “Although I’m not in this one.” 

Sighing a little, Oliver took the paper from Digg and scanned the grainy photos. As he suspected as soon as Digg had mentioned a blonde, there were shots of him talking to Felicity, outside of Jitters. At least there weren’t pictures of him catching her, and Felicity’s face was somewhat obscured--only her blonde hair and glasses were really visible.

“She’s . . . she’s a friend,” Oliver said, handing the paper back and turning to one of the training dummies, moving through a series of parries with his staff. 

He glanced over at his partner, but Digg just watched him, his arms folded over his chest. Then he nodded and picked up his jacket. “I’m going to head out.” He paused for a moment. “You gonna stay here?” 

“Yeah. Do some more training,” Oliver said, gesturing towards the salmon ladder. “I’ve got my bike, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Diggle made a small noise of agreement, but he didn’t turn and head towards the stairs. Instead, he just . . . waited. 

“Got something to say, Digg?” Oliver said as he lifted the bar for the salmon ladder, feeling a stab of annoyance. 

“Just wondering where your head’s at,” Digg said, raising his voice to be heard over the clanging of metal against metal.

Instead of answering right away, Oliver waited until he reached the top of the ladder. “You worry about my head a lot.” 

“Somebody’s got to,” Digg said, sounding mild and unruffled. “Even before you stopped your playboy act, you’ve been living like a monk. Except for this girl.” 

Oliver looked down at Digg, knowing his curiosity showed in his face. Digg smirked a little. “Last December, you and a mystery blonde? Having coffee together?”

Damn it. Not only did Digg have the memory of an elephant, the man thought he knew everything. And the galling thing was, he knew enough. Too much, even. More than Oliver did, it felt like. Gritting his teeth, Oliver moved back down the ladder, really slamming the bar into each rung. “It--coulda--been--two--different--women,” he spit out. 

“Could have, but isn’t.” 

With a huff, Oliver hung from the lowest rung of the ladder, then let go of the bar and hit the floor. “What are you doing? Asking me about my intentions towards some woman I barely know?” 

“Just being curious. Because you’ve got a lot going on, Oliver. You sure you want to add something else?” 

He had opened his mouth to argue, only for Digg to hold up a hand. “Have you failed to notice the date on that invite you keep looking at?” 

Was he really being this obvious? Oliver furrowed his brow and considered not giving in to Digg’s question, but now he was wondering what Digg meant. So he picked up the invite again and ran his eyes over it, freezing as it finally sunk in. 

“It’s the same night as Sebastian Blood’s benefit.” 

“Which, actually, is something you’re throwing with him, right?” Digg asked, that tone back in his voice again. The tone that Oliver could now identify as bemusement. “Can’t really be a good host and miss any of it, can you?” 

Straightening up, Oliver eyed Digg. “Not necessarily,” he said, feeling that playboy mantle slip over him again and hating how easy it was sometimes. “These kinds of things, no one notices if the host slips away for an hour.” 

“True, I guess,” Digg said as Oliver grabbed a shirt and pulled it on. “Let’s just hope Sebastian Blood isn’t so observant.” 

“We’ll see, I guess,” Oliver said, picking up his keys from the desk. “I’m going home. See you tomorrow.” 

Digg followed him up the stairs, staying quiet. Because what else was there to say? He had already exposed how Oliver was lying to himself. He felt his hands clench into fists for a moment before he forced himself to relax. 

Just because he wasn’t actively being a playboy meant he could leave all its trappings behind, now that he was focusing on his writing. Yes, he believed in Blood’s cause--yes, he still had a position in Starling City as a member of the Queen family--yes, that meant attending galas and sponsoring benefits. But his cover as author Oliver Queen would be improved if he showed up at Felicity’s signing. And more than that . . . he wanted to go. Even if spending more time with Felicity seemed as dangerous as charging into a warehouse full of drug dealers.

Actually, right now, he’d take the drug dealers.

XXX

With a happy little hum, Felicity stepped out of the shower on Saturday evening. Sara would be here any minute to do her hair, she wanted to give her nails a touch-up, and there was the all-important matter of which lipstick to wear. 

Because tonight, she was going to enjoy herself, damn it. She was not going to stress out and wonder if Oliver would show up or not, because tonight was about the people who wanted to talk about _Stray Wires_ , the fans who had been reading her books for years and who had sent her encouraging Tweets and left excited comments on her Facebook posts. 

So all of this beautifying was not for Oliver’s benefit. Nope. Not at all. 

Felicity made a face at herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. The chances of Oliver Queen actually showing up were slim to begin with. And that was before she had realized that the big benefit he was co-hosting with Sebastian Blood was tonight, too. There was no way Oliver could do both, so there was no reason to tie herself into knots and try to be something-- _someone_ \--she wasn’t. 

Being Felicity Smoak was enough. And that meant spending the evening with whoever showed up for the reading, signing some books, and not letting Sara talk her into crazy hair or too much wine.

Simple. 

Confident that she was focused on what really mattered, Felicity left the bathroom, pausing to put on some music before she slipped into her new dress. It might have taken a lot of scrimping for her to afford, but it was perfect for tonight. The bright purple dress was very professional-looking, she thought--except for the triangle-shaped cutout over the top of her chest. It wasn’t very revealing, but it definitely made the dress interesting.

As she stepped into her black heels, she did a little shimmy in time with the music, smiling at how good the dress felt. But then she stumbled, catching herself on her bed. 

“What . . .?” she said out loud, looking down at her feet. Felicity sighed as she realized that the strap that went around the toes of her right foot had ripped. That made the shoe unwearable--and it meant she had to find something else to wear. 

If only Sara didn’t have dainty, fairy-tale princess feet, she thought as she went through her choices, looking through the bottom of her closet. Otherwise, she’d be on the phone to her friend. But that wasn’t a possibility, so she’d have to go with . . . 

Felicity went very still as she saw the dusty shoebox, crammed in the very back of her closet. Yet even with them out of sight, she hadn’t ever been able to forget her magic shoes. Even if she hadn’t worn them since that night, nearly six years ago now, when everything she wanted had seemed to be hers for the taking. 

Her hands were steady, but slightly clammy, as she picked up the box. Wincing a little at the dust on her fingers, Felicity wiped her hands on the carpet before she lifted up the lid of the box. Just like before, the sparkle of the high heeled shoes lit up the room. 

How had she not realized that her new dress picked up the purple glitter in the shoes? That these shoes would be the perfect accessory for her dress? 

For a genius, sometimes she missed the most obvious things. 

Keeping these shoes in her closet and never wearing them was a crime. Not because they were couture shoes that any woman would love to own and wear. Because the night she had worn them, it had been the first time she had glimpsed the woman she could be. She hadn’t been ready that night . . . but Felicity thought she was ready now. 

She lifted them carefully out of the box and set them on the floor. Oh-so-carefully, she stepped into them, shifting her center of gravity as the heels added four inches to her height. And then her eyes were closing, as she felt that same spark as before--like they were the sufficiently advanced technology that Arthur C. Clarke had described as magic. 

A knock on the door made Felicity jump, then she looked down at her shoes, feeling nervous. But they were intact, so she dashed over to the door and opened it. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late, I had to--” Sara began as she stepped into Felicity’s apartment, but then she stopped and stared. “Wow.” 

“Wow? A good wow?” Felicity asked, unable to hold back the wide smile at Sara’s tone and expression. She looked amazed. 

Sara nodded slowly. “You’ve been holding out on me with all those loose clothes at the dojo! Hot.” She grinned, then pointed at Felicity’s shoes. “And where did those come from? I’d kill to wear them.” 

“Too bad, they’re mine and they wouldn’t fit you.” Felicity grinned. “They were a gift from Laurel, six years ago.” 

A flicker of sadness was Sara’s only reaction to Laurel’s name. She smiled at Felicity. “Well, now it’s not gonna matter that I was late. You’re already more than halfway to author-I’d-like-to--” 

“You really need to get your eyes checked,” Felicity said, rolling her eyes but her smile still in place. “C’mon, I need to start drying my hair or else you’ll have to spend an hour defrizzing me.” 

“What do you think about curls?” Sara asked, following Felicity to the bathroom. “Big, loose ones, in a kinda half-updo?” 

Picking up her hair dryer, Felicity nodded. “It sounds good.” Not just because it would help hide her scar a little--she liked wearing her hair curly and working with her natural waves.

Sara nodded back, grinning, then took the hair dryer from Felicity. “Okay, you sit and relax, and tell me why you’ve been walking around lately with that happy smile on your face. And before you say anything, it’s a guy smile, so don’t even try and tell me any differently.”

Never before had Felicity been so grateful for the roar of a hair dryer. Because it gave her time to figure out how she could talk to Sara about this. About Oliver. Because there was definite history between them, but Felicity didn’t know all the details. And yes, Sara was more interested in women now, but . . . 

“It’s Oliver Queen,” Felicity blurted out before screwing up her eyes as soon as she knew that Sara had heard her words. 

Because if Felicity was about to lose her best friend because of some weirdly awkward crush on her best friend's ex, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see it happen. 

End, Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [magic shoes](http://us.jimmychoo.com/on/demandware.store/Sites-jchus-Site/en_US/GeoShow-Product?pid=144abelcgd#dwvar_144abelcgd_color=Black/Tourmaline&start=5&cgid=women-shoes-pumps&searchgridpos=5&srule=best-matches) return! That was a happy accident--not unlike Felicity stumbling in front of Oliver. I fully intended to have the book signing happen in this chapter, but then there was Oliver catching Felicity and the ensuing adorableness. So now you know what’s coming in Chapter 4. :-) Until next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone’s changed a little bit, but don’t worry, things will get serious again for Oliver and Felicity. Just . . . not in this chapter. I look forward to hearing what y’all think! Comments/reviews are love.

WEBG News at Ten  
 **On-Air Anchor** : And it seems like all of Starling was gathered tonight for a worthy cause: rebuilding the Glades. We go now to Tiffany Donnelly, live at the Starling Grand, with the hosts of this evening’s event.

[video feed of Tiffany standing next to Sebastian Blood]

Channel 52 Live at Eleven  
 **On-Air Anchor** : And now to Kelli Clark, who’s got the culture beat covered tonight. Kelli?

Kelli: That’s right, Don. It was a packed house at Star City Books for Felicity Smoak, signing copies of her new book, Stray Wires.

XXX

How many times over the years had he ducked out early from parties and galas? Shown up late with a crappy excuse? Made his escape into a dark room with a leggy brunette with no one being the wiser? 

It probably numbered in the hundreds. So why did he feel like a teenager trying to sneak out of his parents’ house--like he had never done this before and wanted, more than anything, to not get caught? 

Part of it was because he didn’t have Tommy watching his back, helping create diversions. As good as Digg was, he couldn’t exactly provide interference in this crowd, even if he had been here. But more than that, he was pretty sure it was because of the event he was trying to attend instead of this benefit.

Oliver swept his eyes around the ballroom of the Starling Grand and sipped from a glass of water, waiting for the right opening. He had already spent an hour and a half mingling, making small talk with businessmen he’d known his whole life, forcing himself to listen and smile at their stories about his father. All the while wondering if they had taken part in planning the Undertaking--and marveling at the hypocrisy on display. 

It was enough to make him want to pull out the list again. But that was in the past, he reminded himself. The Arrow wasn’t just trying to exact vengeance anymore; it was about justice. About fairness. Like stopping China White’s Triad gang and safeguarding the drugs needed by Starling City’s hospitals. 

That was where his partner was: Digg was currently tracking the SCPD’s planned attack on the Triad. It was an attack made possible by the information Oliver had fed Captain Lance. The SCPD didn’t have a great reputation, but Quentin Lance wasn’t viewed as the reason for their track record. If anything, he was the reason it wasn’t worse. He’d certainly shown that during the Felicity Smoak attack investigation. 

And just thinking about Felicity was enough to make that tingle of nerves reawaken. Nerves . . . and the itch of desire. 

Although desire wasn’t the right word. It implied more than Oliver was willing to admit to. But he knew that he wanted to see Felicity again--not by chance, but due to an actual planned meeting. Her invitation had been unexpected but welcomed. It made him think of all the coincidences and tricks of fate that he had experienced, those events that made him realize that your choices were only part of what determined how your life happened. There was fate, too. Luck. Whatever you wanted to call it, there was something that was guiding him towards one path. 

Tonight, he was listening to what the unseen forces were trying to tell him.

Checking his watch, Oliver knew it was time for him to leave if he wanted to arrive before Felicity’s signing was over. He lifted his phone, waiting for Digg to pick up. 

“Status?” he asked quietly.

“Radio chatter has the SCPD moving in sometime in the next hour. They’re getting ready to take up positions at the target.” 

Oliver frowned slightly. By now, they should be moving in. “Any reason for the delay?” 

“Seems like they had communication problems,” Diggle said, sounding distant, like you did when carrying on one conversations while listening to another. “No other red flags, at least.” 

“Keep monitoring and let me know if anything changes,” Oliver said, easing his way towards one of the side exits, one that was less blocked by Starling City socialites. 

“You’ve already got two events tonight as Oliver Queen, man--you really think you can add an appearance by the Arrow to that?” 

He frowned at Digg’s words, but had to concede he was right. “Point.”

There was a quiet bark of laughter. “I’ve got the extra suit. I’ll go in if necessary. Don’t want to get in the way of your plans with your . . . friend.” 

It would seem that Digg really hadn’t bought Oliver’s explanation that Felicity was just a friend. The only thing that prevented an argument was that he was in public and couldn’t snap out what he was thinking. “Thank you, Mr. Diggle,” Oliver said formally, nodding to a few women his mother’s age as he sidled past them. 

“Of course, Mr. Queen,” Digg said ironically before hanging up. 

Sliding his phone back into the pocket of his pants instead of returning it to his suit jacket, Oliver stopped at the bar that happened to be right next to the side exit he had identified. It wasn’t the best option, but he had gone with the spilled drink ruse to allow himself to leave without questions being raised. He’d just have to be careful about how he spilled his drink on himself, since he wouldn’t have time to stop somewhere for a new shirt. 

But before he could get the vodka tonic he was after, a hand clapped on his shoulder. “Some turnout.” 

Taking a breath, Oliver turned to face Sebastian Blood. “I guess I still know how to throw a party,” he said with a shrug before grinning at the politician. 

“Like riding a bike?” Blood asked, laughing as if he had made the funniest joke in the world. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver noted the photographers that were hanging around. 

If Blood wanted to play for the cameras, Oliver would show him how it was done. “Or other things,” he said with a smirk. “If you know what I mean.” 

Blood let out a hearty chuckle and nodded. “WEBG is showing up to do a live interview with us around ten-thirty. It’ll be great publicity.” 

It was all he could do not to swear. It was already past eight-thirty; if he was going to get to Felicity’s signing and back, he had to leave now. “That’s great, Sebastian--if you don’t mind, I need to make a few calls . . .” Oliver edged away from him slowly, seeing Blood’s expression darken. But the politician simply nodded. 

“You could use the suite I booked for tonight . . . if you wanted privacy.” His voice was slightly lascivious, as if he was enjoying the idea of Oliver being in his debt for a fuckpad.

Oliver smiled tightly, not wanting to show how Blood’s innuendo bothered him. “That’s not necessary, but thank you. I’ll be back soon.” 

Turning on his heel, he strode to the exit. He didn’t bother with attempting to make his exit any less noticeable. Let Blood be the glad-handing host for a while and think that Oliver was slipping out to screw someone. 

That wasn’t the truth. 

XXX

Her hands were clammy. Felicity rubbed them, one at a time, against her dress, switching her tablet from one slightly-dry hand to the other. Most of the time, she didn’t speak at her signings. Public speaking wasn’t easy for her, not with the way she could babble, but Star City Books had been good to her through the years. They had held two fundraisers for her, kept promoting her books, and were everything an independent bookstore should be. In return, she gave them as much publicity as she could and she had willingly agreed to appear at the store and speak as well as sign books. 

But with everything that was going through her mind right now, she wasn’t sure she could hold it together enough to give her speech, let alone make small talk with all the fans filling the store and lining up outside.

Because Sara had been more than a little thrown by her blurted admission that Felicity was interested in Oliver Queen. Not because she harbored any feelings for him, Sara had assured her. 

_“No, it’s just that--he’s the last guy I’d expect you to be interested in, Felicity. How did you even meet?”_

_Felicity took a deep breath. “We actually met before he got shipwrecked and I got attacked. We did a book signing together. He . . . he was really nice, even with acting like a spoiled frat boy.” She paused. “You--you were there that night, too.”_

_Sara’s forehead wrinkled. “You know, I kinda remember that . . . as much as I remember any of those nights. Man, those years are just a blur sometimes.” Sara searched Felicity’s face in the mirror. “What is it?”_

_Turning around as best she could in the small space of the bathroom, Felicity looked directly at Sara. “You kissed him, so . . . so I felt awkward saying anything to you before now. Not that there’s anything to talk about, really--one book signing six years ago and then two coffee-related situations in the last year aren’t exactly a lot to talk about, and believe me, I know that I’m being silly, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or risk our friendship over this. Over . . .Oliver.”_

_The small chuckle that Sara let out made Felicity tense even as her hopes rose. “Oh, God, now I remember. Ollie was such a jerk that night. Handsome as hell, but a jerk.” She grinned at Felicity and gave her a quick hug. Felicity breathed out, feeling her tension ease._

_“Ollie and me were just friends with benefits,” Sara said, pulling back and fixing her eyes on Felicity. “I was trying to get attention--all the wrong kinds--and Ollie--well, I don’t know what he was after, really, but at least I took his mind off his problems for a little while.” Sara leaned against the bathroom counter, still holding the hair dryer in her hand. “But it’s ancient history. I haven’t even seen him since he came back. So really, you have nothing to worry about.”_

Yeah. Sure. Nothing to worry about. Just public speaking and promoting her book as best she could, and worrying if Sara had been honest with her, and then feeling like a bad person for doubting her friend, and . . . what if Oliver _did_ show up? What if he heard her talking about what she had gone through, what if he heard her read from the book’s foreword, and thought she was whiny and shallow? After all, she hadn’t spent five years shipwrecked on a deserted island! 

She was starting to breathe too fast and her fingers were rubbing the scar on her neck. The shivers were coming back. Squeezing her eyes shut and pulling her hand away from her scar, Felicity made herself concentrate and focus. “You’re safe. You’re free. And you’re strong,” she whispered, gripping her tablet with both hands and using the plastic and glass to ground her as much as the words. 

Sara was just outside, helping get everything set up for her reading, and there were a few other women from her self-defense class coming tonight. And everyone at this event were here because they liked her work and they supported her. There wouldn’t be anyone lurking in the crowd, preparing to hurt her.

Her breathing slowed down, becoming regular, and Felicity felt her shoulders lower from their place around her ears. She kept her eyes closed and just worked on her breathing and within a few moments, her body had stopped trembling. 

Tonight wasn’t about her. It was about the readers. She would get up and talk about _Stray Wires_ , she would read a little of the foreword, and she would sign copies for people. And maybe . . . maybe it would help people. It was all so new, this idea that she could do more. When she wrote _Treehouse_ , she thought she would change the world with what she was saying. But maybe it was more important to change individual people instead of the whole world. 

“Ms. Smoak?” 

Felicity turned around quickly, holding her tablet to her chest. “Y-yes?” 

Susan, the co-owner of the shop, smiled at her. “Feeling nervous?” 

Lowering her tablet, Felicity nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . . it’s been a while.” 

“I’m really excited for tonight,” Susan said, going to a small mini-fridge in the corner of the office. “Would you like another bottle of water?” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Felicity said, showing Susan her nearly-full bottle. “Thank you. And I’m excited, too, of course.” 

“That’s good! Because I actually came in to say we’re just about ready, if you want to get started. Now, I’ll be introducing you, you’ll speak to the crowd, and then we’ll start the signing afterwards. Okay?” 

Felicity nodded, appreciating Susan’s brisk yet friendly efficiency. It let her shift her mind away from all the personal drama and to her work. She took a few deep breaths and adjusted her glasses. “I’m ready.” 

Susan smiled. “Then this way, Ms. Smoak.” 

“Felicity, please,” she corrected. “Ms. Smoak makes me look for my mother.” 

With a soft chuckle, Susan nodded. “All right, Felicity. Let’s get this show on the road.” 

Taking a few deep breaths, Felicity followed Susan. They walked out of the office and down a short hallway, passing through a door and stepping out into a dimly-lit area, curtained-off from the stage and the rest of the store. Susan climbed onto the stage and stepped through the curtains, and a polite yet enthusiastic round of applause greeted her. 

As Susan began her introduction, Felicity quickly woke her tablet and skimmed the first few sentences of her speech. She always tried to memorize the beginning, so that if nerves kicked in and she couldn’t focus, at least she could say something while she found her calm. 

“. . . it is my pleasure to welcome back to Star City Books, Felicity Smoak!” 

At the last words of her introduction were made, Felicity stepped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble and fall off at the crash of applause that broke over her. Just how many people were here? It sounded like thousands!

She paused, and the clapping only got louder. “You’re strong,” she said to herself quickly as she pushed open the curtains and came into view of the audience.

It wasn’t thousands. But it was the biggest crowd she had ever seen in Star City Books. And they were all here to listen to her. 

Stepping up to the microphone, Felicity did her best to smile, even as cell phone camera flashes went off and the applause continued for a long moment. And through it all, she kept looking at the people in the audience, feeling her heart swell up with happiness and gratitude and excitement. 

Slowly the applause faded, and Felicity leaned in to the microphone. “Wow. I wish I got applause like that all the time. Like when I manage to get dressed like an adult without any coffee.” 

And the laughter of the crowd made her smile for real. 

XXX

If he didn’t find a parking spot soon, he would have to turn around and go back to the Starling Grand without seeing Felicity. 

He didn’t want to admit how frustrating that thought was. Because then he’d have to figure out why he was frustrated, other than the obvious reasons: fighting Starling City traffic on a Saturday night and getting on Sebastian Blood’s bad side for nearly missing the TV interview. For a do-gooder, Blood certainly liked playing up his selflessness. 

Gripping the steering wheel, Oliver drove down another street near Star City Books, crawling along as he swept his eyes around for a place to park. The only option in this neighborhood was street parking, so he just had to hope--

A beat-up Ford pulled out of a space on the opposite side of the street and Oliver wasted no time in pulling a U-turn and sliding into the spot. Getting out of the car, he started walking quickly towards the bookstore.

Oliver glanced at his watch and sighed. It was too late. The signing was only supposed to go until nine-thirty, and it was quarter to ten now. For a moment, he paused at a crosswalk, wondering if he should just go back to his car. After all, he hadn’t said he would come . . . it wasn’t like she was expecting him . . . 

Almost without his mind’s input, his feet moved him the rest of the way towards the store. To his surprise, there were a lot of people inside. He pulled on the door and it opened. Was the signing still going on?

“Anyone need a Post-it? This is your last chance . . .” 

What the hell? 

Turning around, he saw Sara Lance, waving a pad of yellow Post-its and talking to the line of people, all of whom were holding copies of _Stray Wires_. She looked down the line and their eyes met.

It wasn’t often he ran into his flings nowadays. With not hitting the club scene much and the whole ‘missing for five years’ aspect, a lot of those women had moved on. So seeing Sara here, it made him think back to the night he met Felicity and how much of a douche he had been. 

“Ollie!” Sara’s smile lit up her face as she walked over and kissed his cheek. “It’s really good to see you.” 

He couldn’t help smiling as he patted her back in a kind-of-hug. He didn’t normally get greeted so . . . cheerfully. “Hi, Sara. It’s good to see you, too. Although I wasn’t expecting it.” 

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m still not much of a reader. But I’m best friends-slash-work for Felicity, so that’s why I’m here tonight.” 

What? Wait. Felicity had mentioned a friend named Sara. Oliver blinked as it sank in. What were the odds that one of his exes would be friends with Felicity? 

Sara’s smile widened as if she knew what he was thinking. “We weren’t expecting you to be here, either. Don’t you have that benefit tonight?” 

Nodding, Oliver smoothed down his suit jacket. “I slipped out to come over here. I thought I was too late.” 

“Nope, Felicity won’t leave until everyone gets their book signed.” She eyed him, then took his arm. “C’mon.” 

“What? Sara, no, I don’t want to be a jerk--” 

“A phrase you have never ever uttered before--who are you and what have you done with Oliver Queen?” Sara said, grinning at him over her shoulder. “Everyone will understand and this way you can get back to your benefit lickety-split.” 

He opened his mouth to protest again, but they were at the front of the line and Sara was whispering into the ear of the person who was now second in line and then shoving a copy of Felicity’s book into his hands and then--

God, what was she wearing? 

Of course he knew what she was wearing--it was a dress. But it was purple and form-fitting and had this triangle-shaped cutout right over the tops of her breasts and--and he was staring. 

Which seemed to be okay, because Felicity was staring at him, too. Her eyes were huge behind her glasses and then she went red. “Oliver! I--I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

She seemed taller, because she wasn’t craning her neck as much to look up at him as she had the last time he had seen her. 

“Um . . . yes. I mean--” Oliver gave his head a shake, making himself focus. “I wasn’t sure I could make it, but I’m glad I did.” 

“Me, too,” Felicity said, a bright smile flashing over her face. 

So often when he was around Felicity, he found himself fighting the urge to smile. It was so different from the way he felt around his sister or Tommy or anyone else. Smiling at her felt . . . natural. And that was so unnatural that he couldn’t understand it. All he knew was that he always settled for just quirking his lips a little. 

“It--it looks like you had a good crowd,” he said, trying to keep the conversation going. 

Her cheeks went pink and she nodded. “I can’t believe it--you should have seen it when I was speaking. It was crazy.” 

“I’m sorry I missed that,” he said, meaning every word. He would have liked to see how Felicity Smoak carried herself when making a speech. Did she make a lot of jokes? Was she very serious? Did she smile like she had a minute ago? 

“Oh, well, I don’t know that I was very good, but--but everyone seemed to enjoy it.” 

“She was great,” the man behind Oliver piped up. His words made Felicity blush even harder and Oliver glanced back at the guy, trying not to feel annoyed at how he was horning in on his moment with Felicity. 

Sara appeared at Felicity’s elbow and whispered in her ear, then stepped away. Felicity turned back to Oliver and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I need to sign for everyone in line so the store can close.” 

“Right--of course,” Oliver said, holding out the book that Sara had given him earlier. 

Felicity took the book and expertly flipped it open to the title page. He watched as she paused, looking thoughtful before she started writing with a bright green Sharpie marker. Taking advantage of her distraction, Oliver let his eyes sweep over her, lingering in certain spots, then stopped when he came to her shoes. For some reason, they tugged at his memory. 

He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure they were the same heels she had worn at the signing they had done together six years ago. Sparkly, kind of purple-black. 

And how he remembered her shoes, Oliver didn’t know. But . . . but the bigger question in his mind was why he had remembered them at all. 

Pursing her lips, Felicity blew lightly over the page and then closed the book, handing it back to him. “I . . . I hope you enjoy it,” she said, touching her glasses in what he was realizing was a nervous gesture. 

“I think I will,” he said, holding the book against his torso, not wanting this moment to end. Not just yet. Wanting more time with her. 

A throat being cleared, from the vicinity of behind him, made Felicity frown for a moment, then she gave him a shy smile. “See you around?” 

“Yeah. Maybe tomorrow around nine at Jitters?” 

Her eyes went wide again and Oliver couldn’t help another half-smile. She was so captivating when she looked surprised. “Too early?” he asked, stepping in towards her. 

“No! Not too early,” she said, fidgeting with her Sharpie. “Nine’s good.” 

Oliver nodded, still smiling at her. “See you then.” 

With that, he turned and headed towards the exit. If he was still Ollie, he wouldn’t have looked back--he would have been confident she was watching him and wishing he wasn’t walking away. But he couldn’t help glancing back at Felicity as he exited the store. 

She was signing for someone, talking with them and smiling. But for a second their eyes caught and . . . he felt something. Something good.

He gave her a quick wink and waited long enough to see her cheeks go pink before he stepped out of the shop and hustled to his car. 

XXX

WEBG News at Ten  
 **Tiffany** : Thank you, William. I’m here with Alderman Sebastian Blood, who represents the Glades. Alderman, tell me why you sponsored this benefit. 

Blood: Well, politicians are known for wrangling and taking their time--but that’s something the residents of the Glades don’t have. So I wanted to cut through the red tape and get the money directly to those citizens most affected by the Undertaking. 

Tiffany: You arranged this event with Oliver Queen, yes?

Blood: Yes, I did. If there’s anyone who knows how to throw a party, it’s Oliver Queen, of course. But then, it’s because of people like him--

Queen: That we’re able to be here tonight and make a difference for a lot of people. [steps into frame, a charming smile plastered on his face] My apologies. Didn’t mean to step on your toes, Sebastian. 

Blood: Nice of you to join us, Oliver. 

XXX

The door of Star City Books had just closed behind them, Susan’s thanks and praise still ringing in Felicity’s ears, when Sara said tartly, “If I had known you were starring in a romantic comedy, Felicity, I would have pumped you for more details earlier.” 

Felicity bit her lip, looking at Sara and trying to figure out what to say. “I’m sorry?”

Sara rolled her eyes and not-so-gently elbowed her. “I’m not mad! Well, maybe a little, because . . . wow. I’m not joking--that was like a movie.” 

“It was not,” Felicity said weakly, pulling her jacket closer around her as they walked towards Sara’s car. She paused and looked at Sara. “It was that bad?” 

“I kept waiting for music to start playing.” Sara tilted her head to one side. “Something really sweet and romantic. Maybe with strings.” 

Giving Sara her best attempt at an equally ungentle elbow, Felicity blushed. “Now I know you’re exaggerating.” 

“Not by much. Because there were some serious heart eyes going on,” Sara said, some of the amusement fading from her voice. 

She shifted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “I--I can’t seem to help it,” Felicity said softly, glancing at Sara as she spoke. “I mean, of course he’s gorgeous and hot--hot as lava, but . . . but it’s more than that.” 

“Ollie’s changed,” Sara agreed. “He’s definitely not the same guy I used to hang out with. But y’know, Felicity--I wasn’t talking about you with the heart eyes.” 

_What?_

No. No way. It was _not_ possible that Oliver had been-- No. It was just Sara’s imagination and Felicity’s imagination seeing something that wasn’t there, because she was just . . . _Felicity_ and she babbled and couldn’t live without coffee and had to wear glasses all the time. 

Although . . . he wanted to get coffee with her tomorrow morning. In the eyes of most people, that was a date. She hadn’t dreamt that--Oliver had asked her to get coffee with him tomorrow, when he was bound to have a late night tonight with his benefit and any normal person would choose to sleep in, not get up early to have coffee with someone--

“Felicity?”

Blinking, she looked up and realized that Sara had taken several steps forward while she had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, lost in her thoughts. Her best friend looked at her with worried eyes as she walked back towards her. 

“He . . . he asked me to meet him at Jitters tomorrow,” Felicity said, her breath coming out in a rush.

Sara grinned widely and held her fist up. “Attagirl!” 

“I don’t think this calls for a fist bump, Sara,” Felicity said, feeling a tiny smile tug at her lips. 

“Oh, I think it does. Don’t leave me hanging, then we’ll go get some wine and talk about tonight.” 

Giving in, Felicity bumped fists with Sara. “Are you sure? I mean . . . it’s not weird?”

“What? The fact that my best friend and boss is all gooey over a guy I slept with a few times?” Sara smirked. “Romantic comedy.” 

“And all the comedy comes from me acting like an idiot,” Felicity said, feeling embarrassed. 

With a snort, Sara led the way to Felicity’s car. “I doubt that.” 

Felicity stayed quiet, wrapping her arms around her waist as she tried to process all this. Tonight had been so . . . crazy. It was the only word that fit, really. Because so much had happened and she felt like she had been in a tizzy the whole night. 

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk over with Sara whatever this . . . thing, with Oliver, might be. Sara was her friend--she was going to encourage Felicity to believe that Oliver might be interested in her. But that would only get her hopes up, thinking that this was something more. Not when there were so many reasons why it made no sense. 

Yet thinking about him made her stomach drop and her hands clench in her jacket. She was pretty sure it was too late. Her hopes were already up and as much as her head tried to get control, there was no stopping her heart. It was already imagining what might happen tomorrow, planning what she should wear, and coming up with natural ways to give him her phone number. 

“I . . . I don’t know, Sara,” Felicity said, suddenly feeling very tired as the weight of everything settled on her shoulders. “Maybe we could skip the wine tonight.” 

“If you want . . .” Sara said, her voice trailing off for a moment. “Did something else happen tonight?” 

The worry and concern in her voice made tears spring to Felicity’s eyes. Reaching under her glasses, she quickly swiped at her eyes. “I . . . I lost it for a minute, before my speech,” she admitted slowly. 

“Oh, Felicity,” Sara said, giving her a quick hug. “I couldn’t tell at all.” 

“Really? That’s good,” Felicity said, feeling a small amount of relief. “I . . . I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed.” 

Sara rubbed her shoulder as they approached Felicity’s car. “No one was disappointed, I promise.” 

She could see Sara holding back on something--probably teasing her about Oliver. And the fact that Sara held back made Felicity so thankful that she had Sara as a friend. “I sense a but,” Felicity said, giving Sara an opening. 

“What? I was just going to say, _maybe_ Ollie was a little disappointed that he couldn’t talk to you longer . . . but then, he’s gonna get his chance tomorrow.” 

“I’m glad you’re my friend--you feed my delusions so well,” Felicity joked as she opened her car. 

Sara snorted. “Yeah, you’re delusional. Because it’s not like he didn’t sneak out of his own benefit to see you and then invited you to get coffee tomorrow. Nope. Someone must have been holding a gun to his head to make that all happen.”

Her words made a little flutter go through Felicity. To hide it, she started the car and pulled away from the curb, driving towards Sara’s place as her friend kept up a steady stream of chatter about what Felicity should wear tomorrow. 

With how Sara described Oliver’s actions, the idea that Felicity wasn’t imagining things didn’t sound quite so ridiculous. So unbelievable. Of course, with all that Oliver was, it wasn’t surprising that Felicity couldn’t stop thinking about him. But if he was feeling even a little of the same about her . . .

If nothing else, maybe tomorrow would help her see if she had just imagined Oliver’s impact on her writing. Because if they talked tomorrow and nothing happened with her writing, if she didn’t start pounding out a chapter a week, then she would know that he didn’t seem to have strange magical powers over her. 

At least not when it came to her work. 

Felicity felt her cheeks flush. God, how was she going to handle this? It was bad enough when she thought Oliver was just being nice. But the idea that he actually liked spending time with her . . . she could feel the babble already starting. 

Sara looked over at Felicity as they arrived at her apartment building. “You still want to skip out on the wine and the rehash?” 

Running her hands over the steering wheel, Felicity nodded slowly. “I think I need to be alone. But thank you, Sara--I really appreciate all your help. Not just tonight, but always.” 

“I know,” Sara said, leaning over to give her a somewhat-awkward one-armed hug. “I want to know all the details tomorrow, though. Dinner, maybe?” 

“Okay,” Felicity said with a small smile. 

“Big Belly on me,” Sara said, hopping out of the car. But before she shut the door, she leaned down. “And Felicity?” 

“Yeah, Sara?” she asked, wondering at how her friend paused before replying. Wondering what Sara was waiting to say. 

“Go big or go home.” Sara gave her a grin and then slammed the door shut. She walked up to her apartment building with a jaunty stride. 

It was such a Sara piece of advice that Felicity couldn’t help laughing. But . . . it was also very good advice, too. So as she drove home, Felicity tried to figure out just how she was going to go big. 

XXX

Channel 52 Live at Eleven  
 **Kelli** : [narrating] The lines stretched out of the store as eager fans of Felicity Smoak waited for her to begin her appearance.

[video footage of the crowd before the event started] 

Kelli: This fan came all the way from Central City for tonight’s signing. 

[interview with fan, identified as Barry Allen]

Barry Allen: Since she’s not touring for this book, and I’ve been a big fan of Felicity Smoak’s for years, I had to come to this signing. [holds up his book, grinning proudly as he displays Felicity’s signature across the title page]

[video footage of Felicity’s first line of her speech] 

Kelli: Staying long past the scheduled end of her signing, Ms. Smoak made sure that everyone had gotten their books signed before the end of the night. 

[video footage of the end of the line, including a brief glimpse of Oliver entering the store]

Felicity Smoak: For all the people that came out tonight, it’s the least I can do to make sure they get a signed copy of my book. If they want it, that is. But I love talking with my fans and I’m so grateful to them, especially with how long it’s been since I published anything. 

Kelli: One of Starling City’s best and brightest showed why tonight. Back to you, Don.

End, Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the midseason finale for the fluff invasion that has occurred. Hopefully, y’all don’t mind. The plot is inching its way back into this fic, but until that’s done, enjoy Oliver and Felicity having coffee together. :-)
> 
> My gift in the Tumblr Olicity Secret Santa exchange is amazing: [a gifset for this series](http://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/105705193154/ink-in-my-pen-ran-dry-series-oliver-queen-and%0A)! It’s so amazing that I wanted to share it.

Book Whispers blog, October 15, 2013  
 **Rumor Central**

\--Remember Oliver Queen? The “author” of The Frat Boy Way? Word on the street has it that he’s writing again. And this is no sequel to his first “book”, either. 

Starling Times, October 17, 2013  
 **Female Vigilante Spotted in The Glades**

Over the last two months, a young female vigilante has appeared in the Glades. She has targeted those who attack women, prompting SCPD to put out a call for anyone with information on this new masked crime-fighter. 

Starling magazine, October 2013  
 **Top 10 Nightclubs in Starling City**

#3: Verdant. There’s no sign of this ground-breaking club losing its edge with the novelty of a nightspot in the Glades wearing off. Founded by Tommy Merlyn and Oliver Queen and now run by Merlyn, Verdant still remains one of the best places to be seen in Starling City. Sure, the liquor quality can be hit-and-miss and the DJs spin the expected tracks, but you’re bound to end up in the background of paparazzi shots--or maybe even be the center of one!

XXX

The door to his bedroom banged against the wall as Thea barrelled in. “Ollie, I need a ride, so get your ass outta--”

His sister blinked when she saw he wasn’t in bed. “What are you doing up?” 

“And good morning to you, too, Speedy,” Oliver said, leaning back in his desk chair and closing his notebook. 

“You’re already dressed. Like you’ve been awake for a while.” 

“Because I have,” Oliver said, standing up and walking over to her. “Since five-thirty.” 

It wasn’t that early of a wake-up time for him, with how little he slept most nights. Last night he had even been home at a halfway-decent hour since he didn’t have any Arrow-related business, other than quickly touching base with Digg to confirm that SCPD had taken down China White. But he couldn’t exactly tell Thea that. Not just because of his other identity, but if he admitted the reason why he was already awake--his coffee date with Felicity--she’d want all the details. 

And he wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of Thea knowing that much about Felicity just yet. 

Thea’s eyebrows were already narrowed. His sister was smart as a whip--maybe not when it came to school, but she had a finely-tuned bullshit detector and could naturally read people better than he could, even after all his years of practice. 

“You said you needed a ride?” he asked, taking a sip from the cup of coffee he had been nursing. “I was heading into town in a few minutes anyway, so I can drop you wherever you need to go.” 

That seemed to distract her. “Um, yeah. I’m going to Verdant.” 

Now it was Oliver’s turn to blink. “Why . . .?” 

She blew out a breath and folded her arms over her chest. “Because I’ve been helping Tommy run the place since . . . well, you know. There’s a liquor delivery happening this morning and he’s got physical therapy, so I said I’d take care of it.” 

Oliver had to take a step back as he processed everything Thea had just said. As some pieces fell into place. He’d noticed that Thea hadn’t been around the house much, but since she had been mentioning the name Roy a lot, he had assumed she had a new boyfriend and they were spending time together. If Thea was spending time at Verdant, he wouldn’t have noticed that. Even though the Foundry was underneath the club, Oliver hadn’t crossed its threshold ever since Tommy had learned his secret. Other than the night of the Undertaking, when he had lifted the beam pinning his best friend. 

And honestly . . . he felt relieved. Relieved that Tommy had help, relieved that it was someone who was sure to be looking out for his best interests. Because Thea was just as much Tommy’s sister as Oliver’s. So she would look out for Tommy.

Not that he was entirely happy with the idea of his baby sister, who was barely eighteen, working at a nightclub. Because while Thea had a tongue she wasn’t afraid to use and a pretty good right hook, there were plenty of guys out there that would see her rebuffs as a reason to keep trying. He knew how guys acted when they were drunk and horny--he’d been one of them, once upon a time. 

“You like working at Verdant?” he asked, eyeing Thea. 

A small smile lit up her face as she nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s fun, and I’m helping Tommy.” She frowned at him. “It sucks that you guys aren’t talking.” 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, scuffing one foot against the thick carpet. “But I did some shitty things, and he’s angry at me for good reason. But until he’s willing to talk, I’m just . . .” He let his voice trail off and he shrugged his shoulders.

Thea reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug, surprising him. “He’ll get over it, Ollie.” 

Leaning forward, Oliver hugged her back, smiling a little. “Thanks, Speedy.” 

He expected her to groan at the nickname and complain about it once again, but she just pulled back and grinned at him. “So why are you going into town?” 

“Coffee with a friend,” Oliver said, checking his watch and seeing that they had to get moving if he would be on time for Felicity. He picked up his notebook and pen, sliding them into the back pocket of his jeans, then walked over to his nightstand, hesitating as he wondered if he should bring along the copy of _Stray Wires_ Felicity had given him. 

He had stayed up late last night reading it but had only gotten about a quarter of the way through. The articles that made up the bulk of the book were somewhat beyond him; so much had changed with technology in the five years he had been gone, and he’d never really been that savvy about computers to begin with. Still, he found that the quality of Felicity’s writing made even the most technical of subjects interesting.

But the reason he hadn’t made more progress was because he kept returning to the foreword, where she talked about her attack. Her attack and her recovery. 

Not for the first time, he opened up the front cover and looked at the inscription she had written on the title page. 

_For Oliver: someone that I hope will teach me more about surviving and living._

When he had first read it, he had just stared at the green-inked words, holding his breath as he remembered their conversation last December. Because . . . because what could he teach anyone about living? Surviving, yes. He had become an expert on that. It had been his father’s last words to him: _Survive_. But living? Actually doing something with his life other than what was required to get through the day? 

And if there was anyone who didn’t need help living, it was Felicity Smoak. Even with what had happened to her, she was so damn alive that he had moments he wanted to squint when he looked at her. The life shone out of her like the sun. 

“Earth to Ollie.” 

Looking up quickly as Thea came to a stop beside him, Oliver quickly shut the book. But not fast enough: Thea picked it up and looked at the cover, then flipped it over, revealing a candid shot of Felicity for her author portrait. It was similar to how she had looked last December: hair back in a curly blonde ponytail, glasses, bright pink lips. 

“She’s pretty, for a nerd,” Thea said, looking up at Oliver. “Not your normal thing, is it?” 

“She’s just a friend,” he replied quickly, grabbing the book and tucking it under his arm. “We should get going.” 

Thea stared at him before a mischievous smirk appeared on her face. “I meant reading books, not the writer. You know her?”

Oliver resisted the urge to groan. He hadn’t wanted to give anything away, but he had. And now Thea would be like a dog with a bone. “Yes, I do. She lives here in Starling.” 

“Hmmm,” Thea said, the wheels in her head turning. But instead of asking him anything more about Felicity, she changed gears. “How’s the writing going?” 

“Okay, I guess,” he said, keeping his voice light. “And thank you for asking.” 

His sister shrugged and smiled at him. “I know Mom’s not thrilled about it, but I think it’s great. And if you ever meet John Green, I want a signed book.” 

“Who?” Oliver asked.

That set Thea off, talking about some author who wrote very popular books and was ‘cute in a geeky way’ and how she knew his last book was pretty manipulative but it was still really good and ‘you should definitely read it, Ollie’. 

Her chatter eventually morphed into easy conversation between the two of them, talking about anything and everything as they went into the city. As he listened to her, Oliver realized that Thea was only the second person to encourage him in this new part of his life. Who thought he was doing the right thing by writing.

And the first person to think that was Felicity.

XXX

Okay, she could do this. It wasn’t a date. It was just coffee. And if, for some reason, Oliver had changed his mind and stood her up, she had her laptop and her notes and she could take advantage of the cozy chairs at Jitters and the excellent coffee to get some work done. 

But deep down, she didn’t think he was going to stand her up. And that . . . that was more terrifying than the prospect of him not showing up. 

Felicity stepped into Jitters, basking in the cheery warmth of the shop and feeling her nerves calm slightly. The weather outside was gray and drizzly, which made curling up inside an even more attractive proposition. With years of experience working in coffee shops, Felicity quickly found a table that not only had access to an outlet, but gave her a good line of sight to the front door. Setting down her bag, she unpacked her laptop and plugged it in before pulling up the file for her new book, skimming through it slowly. 

The more she read, the deeper she could feel herself frown. Because . . . it just wasn’t working. She liked the topic, she was enjoying the research, and she was even recalling long-forgotten memories from her own life. Like how as a five-year-old, she had learned how to unthread tapes from the battered VCR they had, because the machine kept eating the tapes and ruining her movies.

Yet she didn’t think any of that interest or enjoyment was coming through in her writing. The words felt so bland and flat on the page and she just didn’t understand why. 

“Felicity?” 

Oliver’s soft voice made her startle, her knee banging into the underside of the table. “Oh! Oliver!” 

She was so flustered, she nearly missed the sight of a near-actual smile on his face. It was definitely bigger than the little half-smiles she usually got from him. “Okay there?” he asked, his voice sounding amused. 

Nodding quickly, she stood up. “Yes! Fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine here now . . . and I just made a _Star Wars_ reference. I did not expect that to happen. At least not so soon. A girl wants to work up to revealing just how nerdy she is.” 

“Is _Star Wars_ really that nerdy, though? Everyone likes _Star Wars_ ,” Oliver said, his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a book tucked under one arm. His smile was smaller now but still warm and his eyes were focused on her. 

“Point. It’s totally mainstream now,” Felicity said, unable to not return his smile. “Hi. It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and setting the book down. Felicity felt her cheeks turn pink as she realized it was _Stray Wires_. “Ready for coffee?” Oliver asked, sounding a bit brisk. Like he didn’t want to talk about how he was carrying around her book. 

Even though the curiosity was almost managing to win out over her nerves, Felicity nodded. “I am always ready for coffee.” 

A small, silent chuckle escaped Oliver as they headed towards the line. Felicity fought the urge to fist pump. “You really like coffee.”

“It’s my greatest vice,” she conceded, smiling at him. “Because it’s a lot less expensive than the vices I wish I could have.” 

“Such as?” he asked, standing beside her in line, just a foot of space between them. 

“Gadgets. Shoes. Things like that,” she said, adjusting her glasses and looking up at the menu board, even though she had it memorized. But it let her handle the butterflies in her stomach. 

But not when she realized after a moment that he was looking at her. No . . . he was practically _gazing_ at her. And that--that was just not fair, because knowing that he was so focused on her made those butterflies fly around so fast, it was like her stomach was full of ping-pong balls. 

She turned her head to look at him, locking her eyes with his. It was a motivation that she didn’t really understand--and it certainly wasn’t a hardship to look at Oliver--but it was more than that. It was like she wanted him to know she could stand toe-to-toe with him. And she wanted to know what he would do if she challenged him a little. 

After a long, breathless moment, Oliver smiled a little. “I noticed last night that you only wear glasses now.” 

“My glasses . . . oh, yeah,” she said, her fingers once again touching the side of her frames. “Yes, glasses only for me.” 

“Is it because of what happened to you?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

There was no pity in his voice, no hint that he was going to follow up her answer with some cliche like ‘at least you’re alive’. There was just a sense of . . . sympathy. A matter-of-fact understanding. 

Felicity nodded. “My left eye was damaged--there’s surgery that could fix it, but my health insurance wouldn’t pay for it--so I can’t wear contacts anymore.”

“Do you miss them?” he asked, taking a step forward as the line moved closer to the counter. 

Tilting her head to one side, she considered her answer while part of her mind wondered why no one had ever asked her that question. “A little, but I like my glasses.” 

“They’re very . . . you,” he said, his momentary hesitation making her look at him a bit closer. Which, again, not a hardship. Not with the way Oliver Queen made a sweater and jeans look that good. 

Also, she had no idea what to say to that. ‘Thank you’? ‘Do you see me as such a massive nerd that you can’t picture me without glasses’? ‘Do glasses turn you on’?

Her cheeks went pink and she fumbled in her purse. “I’m paying for the coffees today. No arguments, Mr. Queen.” 

“Noooo, Mr. Queen was my father,” Oliver said lightly. “But since you feel so strongly about it, I don’t mind having you buy me coffee.” He gave her a grin that had the slightest hint of cheekiness to it, and she realized that he was almost--no, he was _flirting_ with her. 

Sara’s words from last night, about Felicity starring in a rom-com and Oliver having heart eyes, popped into her head and she felt her hands go clammy around her wallet. “Not--not something you’re used to, I guess?” she asked, her voice a bit higher-pitched than normal.

“What, not being the one to pick up the tab for once or a pretty woman buying me something?” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she saw his eyes go wide for a split-second. Like he was surprised by what he had said. That made two of them: because Oliver was definitely flirting with her, he had just called her pretty, and . . . and it was getting nearly impossible for her to deny what was staring her in the face.

He liked her. 

XXX

What the hell was his mouth doing? 

Why did being around Felicity Smoak make him feel like he had no control over what he said? First last night with asking her out for coffee (because he hadn’t asked a woman out on something that could be construed as a date in a very long time--much longer than six years) and now today. Because the man he was now didn’t do charming flirtation like he had before the island.

But with Felicity . . . he did. Although he wasn’t flirting like he had when he was younger. No, this was a lot more innocent--but a hell of a lot more intimate. And it felt really good but also a bit like his whole world was getting turned upside-down. 

He could see that she was shocked that he had called her pretty, with how wide her eyes were and how her lips parted slightly. It was a look he had seen on her face before, one that he seemed to keep causing. Maybe because it was a good look. She wasn’t jaded or cynical like so many of the people he knew. Her emotions were right there on the surface: she didn’t hold anything back. 

Even when it was awkward. Like right now. 

Thankfully, their turn came up, and Felicity quickly rattled off a request for a tall vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin. Oliver added his order, and the time it took to pay and get their drinks let him regain his equilibrium. 

Asking Felicity to coffee was an impulse, yes. The kind of impulse he rarely gave into as Oliver Queen. As the Arrow, he relied on his instincts, on split-second decisions that he often didn’t fully understand. His instincts were saying that Felicity was something different. Someone he wanted to know. So . . . what would be so wrong with giving in to the impulse? 

Oliver watched her out of the corner of his eye as they moved towards their table. Felicity was stepping carefully with her very full mug of coffee, making him think of Thea when she was little and just learning to walk. 

But the last thing he wanted to do was compare Felicity to his sister. His reaction to her last night, to the sight of her very nice legs in her form-fitting dress, meant that was not the road to go down. 

The strange tension was back with a vengeance, and Oliver fell back on small talk. Even if it was no replacement for the easy back-and-forth conversation they were having before he blurted out that she was pretty, with all the finesse of a teenager at his first dance. “This is a good table,” he said as he eased into the chair that would let him see the front door. 

“The plug is God,” Felicity chirped, giving him a too-bright smile as she gestured at her laptop’s power cable, inserted into an outlet under the table. Then she paused and tilted her head to one side. “Or is it free wi-fi? Maybe the plug is like, an apostle or something? I’m Jewish, so the whole Jesus and the apostles thing is really confusing to me. No, I think the plug is still God, because without electricity there would be no way to access wi-fi, so . . .” 

She trailed off, her face going a very flattering shade of pink. “These are the kinds of things I think about. Normally I don’t just babble away about them, though.” She took a long swallow from her coffee, looking away from him.

Which was probably a good thing, because he was fighting really hard not to grin at her. Which was another impulse--at least he was able to hold back on that one. Because Oliver Queen did not grin. Even at nerdy, pretty girls who babbled, with pink cheeks and bright eyes and constantly-moving hands with turquoise-blue nails. 

“I’ve never thought about the apostles,” he said, taking a sip of coffee to fully squelch his grin. “But why is the plug so important?” 

“There is nothing worse than a dying laptop battery and words that just have to get put down,” Felicity said, giving a small shudder before smiling at him. “Even though I carry an extra battery, I always look for an outlet when I’m working someplace other than home.” 

His forehead wrinkled a little. “So . . . you go to other places to write?” 

Felicity nodded as she drank some coffee and then put aside her mug, a few feet from her laptop. She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “A lot.” 

“But . . . why?” 

“I don’t understand,” she replied, looking confused. 

“Don’t you need to concentrate?” he asked curiously. “I mean, all the noise here--how can you get anything done?” 

He felt even more confused when she laughed. “It’s a coffee shop, not a nightclub! All the noise just becomes this hum in the background. Besides, if I didn’t write in coffee shops or libraries, I’d never leave my apartment.” She broke off a piece of her muffin and offered it to him. When he shook his head, she popped it into her mouth.

“Huh,” Oliver said. It made sense, the desire to not stay in her apartment all the time. But he couldn’t imagine wanting to write anywhere but his bedroom. Where he wouldn’t be disturbed . . . and no one would know what he was doing. He might have gotten into the habit of carrying his notebook with him, but he never just pulled it out and wrote when he wasn’t at home. 

But this was Felicity. The woman who told him he had potential. Who didn’t know that he was trying to become a writer.

“Deep thoughts?” she asked him as she finished chewing. 

Huffing out a laugh, he shook his head. “No, not really. I guess . . . I just haven’t wanted to write anywhere but in my room.” 

She stared at him for a moment, then one of those bright, beaming smiles appeared on her face. “You’re writing again?” 

What was that in her voice? There was some tone that he didn’t really recognize. He almost wanted to call it . . . pride. 

Oliver took a breath, feeling his fingers rub against his thumb, and nodded. “I--I actually started earlier this year.”

“That’s amazing, Oliver!” If it wasn’t for the table between them, he was pretty sure Felicity would have thrown her arms around him. Which oddly made him slightly resent the table. She leaned forward again. “How far along are you? Who are you working with? What direction are you going in?” 

The enthusiasm practically bubbled out of her and Oliver felt his breath catch. When he had told his mother and Thea, they had been cautious. Confused. They hadn’t been excited for him--not like this. And he hadn’t realized how much he wanted this. Support, encouragement--almost glee. 

And then he noticed the expression on Felicity’s face. It was still excited, but it had softened a little, into something warmer. Something that made him feel so aware of her that his whole body almost tingled from the electricity. 

Because . . . because he was smiling at her. Really smiling. And suddenly he understood why he had been holding back with her. 

XXX

If she hadn’t been so thrilled to hear that Oliver was writing, the impact of him giving her that smile would have killed her. Because a smiling Oliver was . . . it was good. Really, really good. A top-of-the-line computer system with built-in espresso maker and untraceable Internet good. 

But she was more focused on his revelation and how giddy she felt. Because she knew he could do this, and she was so happy that he had listened to her, and it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him to show her what he was working on, but thank God she had managed to hold _that_ back. Such a request would be moving way too fast. 

Felicity gently poked a finger against Oliver’s hand where it rested on the tabletop. “Don’t leave me hanging!” she said with a laugh. “You can’t just say that and not expect me to want to know more.” 

Oliver shifted in his seat, his shoulders hunching up towards his ears for a moment before lowering back into place. “You really want to know?” 

“I really want to know,” Felicity said, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “Anything you want to tell me, any questions you have . . . let me be your Obi-wan.” She grinned, acknowledging the reference, and then leaned back, wrapping her hands around her mug.

His eyebrow quirked. “You’re going to teach me the ways of the Force and turn me into a Jedi?” 

That . . . that should not be so hot. Felicity blinked and swallowed, watching as Oliver ducked his head for a moment before looking back at her. “How . . . you just quoted _Star Wars_ to me,” she said, trying to sound like she wasn’t melting into a puddle. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it and smiled a little. It was one of those half-smiles, which Felicity was grateful for. If she got the whole enchilada now--the smile with teeth and dancing eyes--she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. “I am male, you know,” Oliver said, lifting his mug and sipping it slowly. “I’ve seen _Star Wars_ more than a few times.”

“Don’t think you can distract me,” Felicity said, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I just got excited.” 

“No--don’t be sorry,” he said, setting his mug down and fixing his eyes on her. “It’s nice. To have someone be so excited. My family were a bit more . . . cautious.” 

There was so much that was going unsaid. She could see how carefully he was picking his words, and in the back of her mind she thought that he was probably one of those writers who deliberated over each and every word he wrote. So she wanted to take an equal amount of care in how she phrased her questions. 

“Your mother and your sister?” she asked quietly, holding on to her coffee mug tightly so she wouldn’t start fidgeting. 

Oliver nodded. “Yeah. They’re happy for me, but . . .” He let his voice trail off, and then he traced the rim of his mug with one long finger. There was something so sad about the gesture, so forlorn, that her hand actually moved to wrap her fingers around his. 

When she realized what she was doing, Felicity yanked her hand back and took a breath. “My mother is a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas,” she blurted out. “Most of the time, I think she wonders where I came from. How she got a daughter like me.” 

His eyes locked with hers. “I think my parents wondered the same thing about me. How their son could be so . . . well.” He lifted his mug, tilting it back to drain the rest of his coffee, before setting it down beside her book, which she _still_ hadn’t asked him about and she was really shocked she had managed to hold back on that, but then . . . there were plenty of other surprises happening today. 

Like Oliver Queen opening up like this. 

“So what?” Felicity asked, wondering if he would continue talking about this or change the subject. 

The slightly sheepish, slightly nervous smile and the half-shrug of one shoulder were adorable. She could suddenly imagine Oliver as a child, preparing to share something embarrassing and being ridiculously charming while doing so. 

“You met me. You saw what I was like before,” he said, his fingertips rubbing against his thumb.

“I did,” Felicity said, tilting her head to one side. “I’m kind of glad I’m getting to know you now, instead of back then.”

It wasn’t until the words were out of her mouth that she realized just how much she meant them. Because six years ago, she had been attracted to and intrigued by Oliver Queen. But now? Both the attraction and intrigue had increased exponentially and she just wanted to know more. 

She wanted to know him. Because she liked him. A lot. And this could be something more than just like, maybe, given time. It could be something special. 

Quickly, before she started babbling something embarrassing, she reached out and tapped her fingernails against the copy of _Stray Wires_ he had brought with him. “What did you think?” 

Her question broke the tension, just like she hoped it would. But then she realized what she had opened herself up to: criticism of a book that she knew wasn’t her best work. Like any other writer, accepting criticism was hard for her. She always ended up feeling like she had failed the reader if they spotted any flaws in her work. 

He took a moment to respond, his face showing a range of tiny emotions in his eyes and his lips--and she really shouldn’t be looking at his mouth right now--before he relaxed a little. “I liked it. What I’ve read so far, I mean. Some of the articles go over my head.” 

“Of . . . of course,” she said, shifting a little in her chair. “A lot can change in technology in five years.” 

“And I never really paid much attention to computers before, so . . . yes.” Oliver gave her a small smile, then opened the book. He flipped through a few pages, until he reached an article she had written for _Wired_ three years ago about Instagram. “Like this article, I don’t understand what the big deal is with the filters?” 

“I didn’t either, at first,” Felicity said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her phone. “Let me show you the app--that’s how all of these trendy apps get you. You start playing with it and before you know it, you’ll be taking pictures of your food and bemoaning the bad lighting in so many restaurants.” 

Oliver’s eyebrows drew together slightly, giving him a befuddled look that shouldn’t be hot but was. “Taking pictures of your food?” 

“Oh, yes,” Felicity said with a grin, moving her chair a little so they could both see the screen of her phone. “No judgement when you see my profile, though.” 

She felt more than heard the huff of air he let out in a silent laugh. “No. No judgement.” 

End, Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Christmas holidays, and wanting to get some extra writing done, I will be taking next week off. See y’all next year!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, the plot came back! And that means things are about to get really complicated for Oliver and Felicity--both independently and together.

Starling City Tattler, November 12, 2013  
 **Wherefore Art Thou, Ollie?**

Ever since his return from a summer in Europe, Starling City’s favorite playboy has been keeping a low profile. It makes us here at the _Tattler_ ask, just what is Oliver Queen doing? He’s not running Verdant--that’s the task for his baby sister Thea and apparently former best friend Tommy Merlyn. He’s not gone legitimate by working at Queen Consolidated, although rumors have it Mama Queen keeps hoping that will happen. As far as we can tell, Oliver mostly spends his time at Jitters, that popular coffee spot in the Glades. Often with a fetching spectacled blonde, but whether it’s the coffee or the girl that draws him to Jitters remains to be seen.

Starling Examiner, November 17, 2013  
 **Keeping Women Safe: The Coal Mine Dojo**

Open since January of 2012, the Coal Mine Dojo has always offered traditional martial arts and boxing lessons. But they’ve begun to expand into classes designed strictly for women, which are focused on self-defense. 

“It’s important that women learn how to fight in a way that works for them,” says Sara Lance, the head instructor of the women’s self-defense program. “No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men.” 

XXX

Practically jogging down the steps of the main staircase in Queen Manor, Oliver checked his watch as he reached the ground floor. Over the last few weeks, he and Felicity had fallen into the habit of meeting at Jitters on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to have coffee. Sometimes she helped explain elements of the publishing world to him. Sometimes it was about helping him get caught up on the technology and pop culture he had missed. And recently, the times that had become his favorite, they would each work on their writing. Felicity would tap away on her laptop while Oliver wrote longhand, even though Felicity kept teasing him about being a Luddite. 

Those quiet times, when they could be together yet caught up in their own unique worlds, were his favorite because he had never experienced anything like it. Felicity liked to talk, but when she was focusing on her work, she could give him a run for his money when it came to blocking out the world. Actually, she could get lost more than he could, since he could never fully give up his awareness. But more than that . . . it soothed something inside him, to sit with Felicity and glance up at her every so often while searching for the right word, and take in her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. If she realized he was looking at her, she would go pink and smile, her fingers fluttering to her glasses or, very rarely, to the left side of her neck, before she returned to work. 

There was no set time for them to meet at Jitters; whoever arrived first grabbed ‘their’ table and got to work, and when the other showed up, they would get their coffee. Most of the time, he was the first one there, but today he was running behind schedule, thanks to a very late night as the Hood. That was why he was hurrying so much that he didn’t notice his mother until she spoke to him. 

“Oliver, before you go rushing off, I need a moment of your time.” 

Drawing up short, Oliver held back a quiet curse. He had sensed Moira had something on her mind, and he was pretty sure what it was: Queen Consolidated. The CEO search was taking more time than anyone had anticipated--through no fault of Walter’s--and the company was barely treading water. So he was fairly sure she was going to push him to take over as interim CEO. And once he was installed as the interim CEO, Moira would hope that Oliver would get over his reservations and ‘accept his rightful place’ in the family business.

It was like something out of a soap opera, he thought as he turned to face his mother. Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded. “Of course, Mom.” 

“There’s no need to pretend that grimace is a smile, Oliver,” Moira chided him gently, reaching up to brush a bit of lint off his dark henley. “I was hoping that if you were going anywhere near Verdant, you might tell Thea that I’d like all of us to have dinner tonight. Just the family.” 

“And why can’t you just tell her yourself?” Oliver asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Moira eyed him, then her shoulders dropped slightly. “Thea is doing her best to ignore me right now, after I expressed some reservations about how much time she’s spending with Roy.” 

Frowning a little, Oliver thought over the last few weeks. It was true, Thea had been spending more and more time with the mysterious Roy when she wasn’t at Verdant. And he’d noticed that Thea and their mom seemed to be fighting a lot. But there still seemed something a little bit off about this request.

“I’ll be in the neighborhood . . . I guess I could stop by Verdant,” he said slowly. “What time tonight?” 

“Six--I thought we’d have dinner early, for Thea’s sake. Oh, and if you run into Tommy, make sure he knows he’s invited, too.” 

And there it was. Oliver shot his mother a look. “Really, Mom?” 

“What?” Moira said, taking the leather jacket he held in his hands and holding it out for him to put on. “I know you and Tommy haven’t been in touch and it would be a shame to lose a lifelong friendship over a fight I’m sure was about nothing.” 

He yanked the jacket back from his mother and pulled it on roughly. “Mom, just leave it alone.” 

There was no way he could explain to Moira why he and Tommy were in this limbo. Because it all came down to Tommy’s discovery that he was the Hood. To the mistakes that Oliver had made. When he had returned to Starling City, he had held out hope that time would heal these wounds. But that hope had faded and now . . . 

“Have you tried to talk to Tommy? You know how he is; he can’t hold a grudge. If you just bent a little and said you’re sorry, I’m sure this would all be--”

“I said leave it, Mom!”

Moira took a step back, her eyes widening slightly at his raised voice. But she gathered herself and when she spoke, her voice was icy. “What kind of example are you setting for Thea, Oliver? First this falling-out with Tommy, then your refusal to do your part for Queen Consolidated while you flit around Europe and play at being an author . . .” 

It took a moment for his mother’s words to sink in, for him to understand what she was saying. And then the shock and confusion was replaced with anger: a cold, banked ember that flamed into an inferno within a split-second.

“Isn’t it rich that you want me to be an example for Thea now, when I lost five years because I refused to let you and Dad cut me out of her life?” 

The blow hit home. Moira closed her eyes for a long moment. “Oliver . . .” she said softly, but he was done. 

“I’ll give Thea your message, but I won’t be at dinner,” he said, yanking the front door open. It would be satisfying to slam the door, but Diggle was standing on the porch and looked very curious. So Oliver just drew the door shut, a bit firmer than normal, and stalked over towards the Bentley. 

“Verdant first, then Jitters,” Oliver said once Digg climbed behind the wheel. He pulled out his phone to let Felicity know he was delayed. And to give himself something that made him look busy so Digg wouldn’t ask any questions. 

XXX

This was when she wished she had an extra hand, Felicity thought as she tried to juggle her tablet, her phone and her purse, while she tried to get her laptop bag settled higher on her shoulder and pull her keys out of the little ceramic bowl she always tossed them into when she entered her apartment. She had overslept this morning, which meant no self-defense class (the second one she’d skipped in a week and a half, which made her feel guilty about skipping out on Sara and annoyed at wasting money for classes she wasn’t attending) and now she was just struggling to get out the door to meet Oliver. 

Her phone ringing made her drop her purse and sent her laptop bag sliding off her shoulder and down her arm. Sighing, Felicity let her laptop join her purse on the floor as she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Good, you answered.” 

At the sound of Laurel’s voice, Felicity scrunched up her face. “H-hi, Laurel.” 

“You’ve been dodging me. What’s wrong?” Laurel’s voice was no-nonsense, but Felicity thought she heard something else, too. “Or are you just having too much fun with my sister to do any work?” 

Ah. There it was. Although Felicity wasn’t sure it was jealousy . . . more like frustration. 

“There’s nothing wrong,” Felicity said quickly. “It’s coming a bit slower than my other books, but I think the extra time means that I’m closer to a finished product. I’ll need to spend less time in copy edits.” 

“I did kind of think that with the chapter you sent me,” Laurel admitted after a long pause. “And that’s good.”

Felicity nodded, feeling some of the tension ebb. “You’ve always thought I took too long editing--well, this time, I won’t. We’ll be able to get this book out a lot faster from a printing standpoint, because I won’t be spending six months doing edits. Which means I can build on _Stray Wires_ and I know how important that is.” 

“More than you know,” Laurel said. “Do you have any more chapters done?” 

This whole phone call was giving her the heebie-jeebies. Because now she was wondering just what Laurel meant by ‘more than you know’ and if it was about all the rumors surrounding Ex Astris, or if it was something else. Because this new book was the last one on her contract with the publisher, and Felicity knew it had to be good. Because if it wasn’t, it would hurt Ex Astris and they probably wouldn’t give her a new contract, not with their financial issues. And if Ex Astris went under and the new book was a flop, it’d make it a lot harder to get a contract with a new publisher. 

So that was why she gave an answer that was probably slightly too optimistic. “I’ve gone one chapter nearly done, and another that’s maybe two-thirds done.” 

“Send me both chapters whenever you finish them,” Laurel said. “Ex Astris is excited about getting a book of all-new material from you and they want to promote it and make a big splash. If . . .” 

Laurel’s voice trailed off, and Felicity decided to take the bull by the horns. “Laurel? How worried should I be about Ex Astris?” 

“No matter what happens, they’re going to publish this book,” Laurel said firmly. “If they didn’t, they know they’re going to get sued for breach of contract, and that’s the last thing they need on top of everything else.” 

“You would really do that?” Felicity asked, feeling shocked.

“Well . . . you can’t get blood from a stone, but it’s a good threat to have in your back pocket,” Laurel said. 

In short: she wouldn’t actually do it, but she wasn’t above claiming she would. “You are wasted on agenting, Laurel. You should be sending criminals and mob bosses away for life.” 

“My father says the same thing whenever he talks about my student loans from law school,” Laurel said with a rusty laugh. “But then, he’s also thankful I got out of Starling.” 

Felicity hummed a little, not really wanting to agree or disagree with Laurel. Or wanting to ask, flat-out, all the questions she had about the Lance family. But as close as she was with all of them, none of them had ever volunteered an explanation, and Felicity didn’t want to dredge up something painful for them. 

“I think I could get you both chapters by the end of next week,” Felicity said. “You’d have about two-thirds of the book then, in case Ex Astris is getting impatient.” 

“Sounds great,” Laurel said. “Hey, have you run into Ollie lately?” 

“Ollie?” Felicity blinked, not prepared for the change of subject. Or for Laurel to call Oliver by his nickname--by that holdover from the days before he had disappeared, the nickname that really didn’t fit him anymore.

Laurel laughed, this time a bit more naturally. “Oliver Queen. I know you know him--Sara mentioned in an email that you guys were hanging out together. I heard through the grapevine that he’s writing something.” 

So both of the Lance sisters knew Oliver? Knew him well enough to call him Ollie? For some reason, Oliver’s words at their very first meeting--about letting beautiful women call him Ollie--floated through her mind before Felicity gave her head a good shake. Just because he flirted with her and got coffee with her three mornings a week didn’t mean Oliver was actually interested in her. After all, it had been weeks and nothing had happened that could be construed as actual legitimate interest. And what was the big deal about Laurel inquiring about someone who was clearly an old friend of hers?

“Um, I’m actually meeting him for coffee this morning,” Felicity admitted. 

“Tell him I said hi and that if he wants an agent who’s more ethical than Isabel Rochev, he should call me. Not that it’s hard to find an agent more ethical than that bottom-feeder,” Laurel said. 

See? Felicity told herself. Perfectly innocent and understandable. “Of course,” Felicity said, striving to sound cheerful. 

“Great--thanks, Felicity. I’m looking forward to the next two chapters--the ones I’ve read so far have brought back a lot of memories for me.” 

“Me, too,” Felicity said. “Talk to you later.” 

Laurel hung up and Felicity lowered her phone. It was nice of Laurel to say she was looking forward to more. Felicity still wasn’t sure if this book was good or not--she couldn’t put her finger on it, but something seemed to be missing. But hearing Laurel say that the book was bringing back memories was interesting. It fit with what Felicity was experiencing, all kinds of childhood memories emerging from the depths of her mind . . . 

Determinedly, she focused on those memories, on the idea that had been teasing her for the last month, and not on the question that had suddenly appeared in her mind. 

The question of whether Laurel, like her sister, had some kind of connection with Oliver. 

XXX

Eye on Publishing blog, November 21, 2013  
 **New Blood at Ex Astris?**

A new rumor has been added to the mix about Ex Astris, the troubled imprint of Penguin Random House. It looks like Martha Ellis, the imprint’s head since its founding seven years ago, might be on the way out. On a short leash ever since the formal merger of Penguin with Random House nearly six months ago, Ellis has reportedly rubbed some of the top brass the wrong way with her refusal to change course at the imprint.

Literary Launchpad blog, November 24, 2013  
 **The 50 Best Agents Under Thirty-Five**

37\. Laurel Lance, LL Literary: The kind of women who would be called a broad in a 1930s movie, Laurel Lance is a savvy negotiator and possesses a keen eye for talent. Better if you need someone to handle the business side of things.

5\. Isabel Rochev, Inkwell: The highest-ranked female agent is also perhaps the most ruthless. She doesn’t pull her punches and she’s loyal as long as you’re selling, but there’s no one better if you need someone to kick down the door for you.

XXX

As he walked out of Verdant, Oliver ran his hands along his jaw and then clasped them over the back of his neck, wishing he had the time to go down to the Foundry and burn off all . . . this. All the anger and frustration, all the ways he wished his life wasn’t like this. 

The conversation with Thea hadn’t gone well. She was pissed that he was passing messages for their mother--not that he wasn’t equally upset, but he wasn’t ready to tell Thea why he was angry with Moira. It was the wrong time to have that particular conversation, to dredge up how Robert forced Oliver to go on the Queen’s Gambit. Thea still had good memories of their father and Oliver was hoping to keep it that way for a little while longer. 

To make matters worse, Tommy had appeared and Thea had made a dig about them not being friends anymore. It had hit him hard, when he knew Thea had the same hopes as he did about making up with Tommy. But she was lashing out, just like she always did. And meanwhile, Tommy hadn’t said anything to soften the blow. He had just sat there in his chair, looking up at Oliver with dark, unforgiving eyes. 

It was a clusterfuck, one that Oliver had walked into knowing it would be a disaster but still unprepared for how it made him feel. 

Diggle eyed him as he approached the car. “You sure you want to go see the mystery blonde in this condition?”

“Felicity--her name is Felicity!” Oliver snapped, before he stopped and sighed. “Digg . . .” 

With a surprising amount of gentleness, given his frankly impressive musculature, Diggle took Oliver’s arm and steered him towards the alley entrance to the Foundry. “You’ll regret showing up to see Felicity like this. She already knows you’re going to be late--wait until you’ve calmed down before you meet up with her.” 

Part of him wanted to jerk his arm away and stomp off, but he knew Digg was right. And having Digg watch his back like this--not in a life-or-death situation, but in a way that protected Oliver Queen and not the Hood--was comforting. It eased the knot of anger inside his gut, at least a little. 

Once they were inside the Foundry, Digg slid off his jacket and undid his cuffs, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He went to the basket of tennis balls and started tossing one in the air. Knowing what Diggle was suggesting, Oliver slid off his leather jacket. 

With his quiver in place and his bow in his hand, he could already feel the anger starting to drain away. You couldn’t be frustrated and precise at the same time. He missed the first ball that Digg launched into the air, earning a soft snort. But Oliver quickly adjusted as Digg went from just one ball at a time to multiples. After ten minutes, the back wall was covered in arrow-speared tennis balls and Oliver gestured to Digg to stop.

“Okay, now talk,” Diggle said, rolling his sleeves down as he approached Oliver. 

That was the last thing he wanted to do--not when he finally felt like he was under control. But Digg had that look about him, the one that said he wasn’t going to let Oliver off the hook this easily. 

So Oliver replaced his bow and quiver and turned to face Digg. “I have a blonde problem.” 

Digg let out another snort. “Not the first time you’ve had this problem, I bet.” 

“Actually, it is--I always preferred brunettes,” Oliver said, leaning back against one of the metal tables. “But I’m not talking about Felicity. It’s about the female vigilante.” 

“Ah. That blonde,” Diggle said slowly. “I didn’t realize you had been thinking about her.” 

He shrugged. “There’s been a lot going on. And now that she’s starting to attract more attention, I think it’s time to find her. Figure out what her priorities are. Make sure she’s not killing.” 

“You’re not exactly in a position to get on a high horse about that, Oliver.” 

“I realize that,” Oliver said, not taking offense to Digg’s comment. “But just because I used to kill doesn’t give others a license to do the same.” He paused and managed a small smile. “‘Do as I say, not as I do.’”

His bodyguard softly chuckled. “My mother said that to me all the time.” 

“Mine, too,” Oliver said. “We need to find this woman.” 

With a nod, Diggle gestured to the computers. “I’ll stay here, do some searches. Too bad we don’t have some computer expert around to help out, though. An attractive blonde that writes all about computers, for example.”

“You really want to talk about Felicity, huh?” Oliver said, crossing his arms over his chest and working to keep his voice light. 

“I’m concerned, man,” Diggle said, choosing his words carefully. “You’re clearly interested in her, but there’s a lot going on, like you said.”

It took him a few moments to figure out how to reply. How to describe the relationship he had with Felicity while stripping all the emotion out of his words, to keep Digg from being even more interested in what she might mean to him. Just like he wasn’t really ready for Thea to know about Felicity, he didn’t really want to reveal all his secrets to Diggle. The only way he could do this--keep all the parts of his life from collapsing on top of him--was by keeping the people in his life in their places. Thea was home, family, all the good stories from his childhood. Digg was the Foundry and the Hood; his brother in arms. Tommy, even though they were on the outs, was friendship and now-rare moments of relaxation.

Felicity . . . Oliver wasn’t sure what her place was exactly. Yes, she was his friend. But that wasn’t enough to describe her. Because he didn’t flirt with friends like he flirted with Felicity. Which was a problem--he shouldn’t be flirting with her. Even though he had pulled back on the flirting after that first coffee meeting, there were still too many times he slipped up. Even though she was attractive in a way he had never noticed before he met her. It wasn’t about her legs or her smile or her eyes. It was just . . . her. 

And that was another reason he needed to keep this as just friends. She was different. She supported his writing, encouraged him when he felt blocked, served as a sounding board without even realizing it. The only reason he’d achieved as much as he had so far was thanks to their writing dates--sessions, they were sessions, he corrected himself. If he went too far with the flirting, or if they tried anything more . . . he wasn’t sure he could keep writing without her. 

“We’re just friends, Digg,” Oliver finally said. He knew that wasn’t enough, so he kept talking. “We did a book signing, right before I left on the Queen’s Gambit. And then, after I came back . . . I ran into her a few times. She encouraged me to write, so when I started focusing on it, it made sense to ask her for advice.”

Diggle made a small noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything. Oliver resisted the urge to shift his feet or otherwise reveal how much he wanted to fidget under the weight of his gaze. 

Finally, Digg put him out of his misery. “You know I read up about your Miss Smoak. She’s had a rough time.” 

Oliver nodded. “She has.”

“So maybe she understands you better than most people. Better than all the people who have been banging away at your walls, trying to get you to let them in. When maybe what you need is someone who’s waiting for you to open the door.” 

Swallowing, Oliver stood up and turned away from Diggle, knowing he was revealing how much impact Digg’s words had. But he had to--he just couldn’t show that much vulnerability to anyone. 

_Anyone except Felicity_ , his brain needled him. 

“I should go,” he said, picking up his jacket and pulling it on. “I’ll just walk over to Jitters. You want me to bring you back anything?” 

“No, I’m good,” Digg said, his voice making it clear that he wasn’t satisfied with Oliver ending this discussion but resigned to it. “Thanks.” 

He nodded and made for the stairs, resisting the urge to take them two at a time. Felicity had probably been waiting for him over an hour at this point and he didn’t want her to think he was blowing her off. 

That wasn’t something friends did. And that was all he was willing to be: her friend. It would have to be enough.

XXX

Was there anything worse than staring at a computer screen, trying to write but feeling blocked? Maybe sitting in a coffee shop, surrounding by the best smells but without coffee to drink. Because getting coffee would be admitting that your standing coffee date wasn’t going to make it. 

Felicity wasn’t ready to give up on Oliver yet. 

Although it was ridiculous to feel like that. If Oliver arrived and found out how long she’d been waiting without getting coffee, he’d probably think something was wrong with her. Or wonder if her finances were even worse than she had already let slip. Or think that his presence was somehow as necessary as coffee. 

Now this was getting just too ridiculous. She was ridiculous and undercaffeinated, but at least she could fix one of those problems. 

Reaching into her purse, she was digging for her wallet when the table was bumped. Felicity looked up quickly, but she could feel her smile fade for a moment when she saw it was Sara, not Oliver. 

“Expecting someone else?” Sara asked, smirking at her. 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity smiled at Sara. “No, I’m just surprised. You’ve been so busy lately, I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“And you were expecting to see Ollie.” 

There was something . . . Something wasn’t right. Felicity looked at her best friend, feeling her forehead wrinkle. There was a tone to Sara’s voice that she had never heard before, something hard and bitter.

What was going on with her? 

“I was just going to get some coffee--let me get you something and we can talk,” Felicity said, starting to rise to her feet. 

“I don’t want anything,” Sara said, folding her hands on top of the table. “Except for you to be honest.” 

What? Felicity frowned and sat down, closing her laptop and pushing it to the side along with her wallet. “What--what haven’t I been honest about?” 

“Your classes. You’ve been skipping them, Felicity, and it’s making me worry. You’ve missed three in the last two weeks alone. I know I gave you a break on the cost, but your money is too tight for you to be wasting it like this.” Sara looked at her, her blue eyes firm and resolute. 

She had to look away as a wave of guilt washed over her . . . but with little buoys of anger and annoyance in there, too. Because yes, Sara had helped her out by giving her a discount. Felicity missing classes not only meant she was missing out on the opportunity to defend herself--it was a reflection on her friendship with Sara. And yes, Sara knew a lot about how close to the edge, financially speaking, Felicity was. But it wasn’t like Sara wasn’t equally cash-strapped, since neither of them were billionaires like Oliver--

Blinking, Felicity looked back at Sara. Could this be about something else? Someone else? 

Sara had been so breezy when talking about Oliver. Like she was completely unaffected by him. But that couldn’t be possible, because Oliver affected everyone. It wasn’t something he tried to do most of the time--he just had crazy charisma and made everyone want his attention. Men, women, children, small animals: they were all drawn to him.

Had Sara changed her mind? Did she want to pick up things with Oliver and was bothered by Felicity being friends with him? It wasn’t like Felicity was anything more than friends with Oliver . . . even if she had thought that maybe there might be more . . . 

And it had been Sara who had told her to think of Oliver in that way! After her book signing, it had been Sara telling her about the heart eyes and making jokes about being in a romantic comedy. If Sara was now jealous of whatever Felicity had with Oliver, what had happened to change things? 

Licking her lips, Felicity hoped her voice sounded steadier than it did to her ears. “Sara . . . is this really about the classes?”

The dimple in Sara’s chin deepened, a sign she was clenching her jaw. “Of course it is. I don’t like seeing you waste money. And you, of all people, should be taking self-defense seriously.” 

It was like a punch to her gut. Just like the one she got seven years ago. The breath rushed out of her lungs and her whole body tensed up. She was back in that alley, feeling blows rain down upon her. Which was horrible and painful and terrifying. But even worse than the physical pain had been her complete and utter confusion. _Why is this happening to me?_

Felicity could see the flicker of something in Sara’s eyes and then her whole face melted. “Oh my God, Felicity--I didn’t mean--I’m sorry--” 

Managing, somehow, to hold a hand up, Felicity cut off Sara’s words. “N-no. I don’t believe you,” Felicity said shakily. “I don’t think this is j-just about the classes. So you should be honest with me, too, and tell me if this is about Oliver.” 

“It’s not, I swear. You know I’m not interested in guys anymore and even if I was, I wouldn’t go near Ollie. There’s too much history there and--” Sara paused, then reached out and lightly rested her fingers on top of Felicity’s hand. “And I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Physical contact was the last thing she needed right now. Even if it was Sara, someone that Felicity knew would never hurt her. She drew her hand back, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Please, just go.” 

“No, I’m not leaving you alone,” Sara said, but Felicity just shook her head. She wished she could just get up and leave, but she wasn’t sure if her legs were steady enough to support her, and she couldn’t leave her things here. 

“Just--just go to another table for a bit, please?” she asked, feeling weak and utterly defeated. Her arms fell away from her chest, her hands resting on the table. “I have to be alone.” 

Thankfully, Sara must have realized how on-edge she was. With a quick nod, she got up and moved out of sight, letting Felicity take a few long, deep breaths. She looked down at her hands spread wide on the tabletop, her fingernails painted a pale mint-green, and focused on her manicure. Silently repeating her mantra, she got herself under control. Felt the shivers receding and her breathing grow even.

It had been a long time since she had experienced a panic attack that bad. She felt like a wrung-out rag and all she wanted was her bed right now. It wouldn’t be a good idea to wait for Oliver, not now. 

Her hand had just moved towards her phone, her intention to text him, when it rang. And perhaps she was too tired to care, or her heart hoped that it was Oliver, but she answered it without checking the caller ID. 

“Hello?” she said, propping her head up with one hand.

“Is this Felicity Smoak?” a clipped male voice asked. 

So, not Oliver. She held back a sigh, wondering what this was about. “Yes, this is Felicity.” 

“Ms. Smoak, I’m Ben Davis, Starling City _Tattler_ , and we’re planning an extensive look at Oliver Queen: his tragic loss at sea, his miraculous return, and his mysterious recovery. Part of the anniversary coverage, you know. You figure pretty heavily into his life now, so we were hoping to set up an interview with you.” 

“Wh-what?” That was all she could squeeze out, all her brain could come up with. Because . . . because a reporter from the most notorious gossip rag in town was calling _her_ to talk about Oliver?

She knew that there were occasional paparazzi pictures taken of her, usually only when she was with Oliver; she had seen camera flashes when they were sitting in Jitters. But it hadn’t been like before, when the photographers had followed her around, and not just ones from the _Tattler_. But with keeping a lower social-media profile now and how she had been out of the public eye for so long, Felicity hadn’t bothered to keep up the alerts on her name. For all she knew, there could be reams of articles about her--about her and Oliver--and she felt her breath coming faster again. 

“No comment,” she choked out before hanging up her phone quickly and sliding her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes. 

When she pulled her hand away, she blinked when she saw a to-go cup in front of her. Looking up, she saw Sara, a contrite expression on her face. 

“Let me drive you home,” Sara said softly. 

Shaking her head, Felicity picked up the cup and took a long sip. “I . . . I want to wait for Oliver. He needs to know about the phone call I just got.” 

“Then let me wait with you--” Sara started to say, only for her eyes to flick to the door. And Felicity knew, without turning around, that Oliver had finally arrived. 

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to keep the story somewhat in sync with my outline, I’m choosing to bump up the length for this chapter. I don’t know yet if all the future chapters will be this long (honestly, they probably won’t be quite this long, because wow, I got wordy) but I hope you enjoy getting some extra content this week! :-)
> 
> If you like getting random, out-of-context sentences from upcoming chapters and other sneak peeks, take a look at my [Tumblr](http://dettiot.tumblr.com)! And remember, folks: reviews and comments are love.

Even with the memory of Digg’s warning ringing in his ears--and his own silent reminder to himself--Oliver found his spirits rising as he entered Jitters. Without fail, seeing Felicity always made things a little bit better.

He paused slightly as he walked up to their normal table, because Sara was standing there, a concerned expression on her face as she looked down at Felicity. And when he could see Felicity’s face, he understood why.

Because Felicity looked pale and shaky and on the verge of tears.

“Felicity?” he said softly, all but pushing Sara out of the way. “What is it?”

The smile she gave him was weak and trembling. Without thinking about it, he lightly rested the fingers of his right hand against her shoulder. She took a breath and her smile became steadier. “I’m fine, I’m okay.”

Oliver glanced at Sara, feeling an awkward tension between the two women that he didn’t understand. Sara’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Felicity as she spoke. “If you’re sure, I’ll go so you can talk to Ollie. But . . . but will you call me later?”

“I will,” Felicity said, reaching out to lightly touch Sara’s forearm. “I know you didn’t mean it. And thank you for the coffee. It’s really helping.”

He could see Felicity’s fingers tighten slightly around the paper cup she was holding, instead of the normal ceramic mug she would have gotten. Perhaps she had been planning to leave? Running his eyes over her again, Oliver could only guess at what might had happened to cause Felicity to look like this. Yet Sara’s comment made him think that Felicity needed to talk to him. Had delayed leaving so she could do just that.

Was her current state due to whatever she needed to talk to him about? Or had he caused this? What had he done? Oliver wracked his brain, unable to come up with any answers. Perhaps it wasn’t anything he had done--maybe it could be explained by the vibe between Sara and Felicity. Either way, he wanted to know what was going on. Wanted to make Felicity feel better.

“I’ll give you a lift home, Felicity,” Oliver said, sliding into the booth across from Felicity and nodding to Sara, wishing the booths at Jitters weren’t so roomy since now he couldn’t touch Felicity.

Sara looked uncertain but nodded slowly. “Okay . . .” She hesitated, then leaned down to quickly hug Felicity. “Talk to you soon,” she said as she pulled back, and then Sara headed for the door.

Now that Sara was gone, Oliver let himself fully focus on Felicity. “You’re okay? Really?”

Felicity nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “I just . . . do you ever have flashbacks?” She paused and then sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. Of--of course you must have flashbacks. That was a stupid question and probably triggered a flashback--I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

“No--hey, Felicity, it’s all right,” he said quickly, pushing aside the memories that her words had sparked. Wanting to find out how he could help her, wanting to support her right now. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Yes,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the table. One hand rested against her neck, covering the scar under her ear. “Sara said something--we were fighting and then I was . . . I was back in the alley.”

He swallowed at the pain in her voice. When he thought of Felicity, he thought of light and hope and courage. Seeing her like this, so sad and drawn, made him want to storm Iron Heights, find the man who had done this to her, and put an arrow in him. Several arrows.

“The thing I still don’t understand is . . . why.” Felicity slowly raised her eyes to him. “I still don’t know why he did this to me--what he thought it would achieve.” She searched his face and Oliver felt like he was holding his breath. “How far he was going to take it. I mean, he testified that he saw some cops walk past the alley so he stopped and ran, but--but if that hadn’t happened, would he--was he--”

“Shhh,” Oliver said, reaching out and taking Felicity’s hand from around her coffee, and then after a moment, he gently pulled her other hand away from her neck. Clasping both of her hands between his, he gave her a level gaze. “You can’t think like that, Felicity. Don’t let him affect how far you’ve come.”

In the back of his mind, he knew this was going well beyond the boundaries of friendship. Not when he felt a burning desire to make her pain go away. Not with how the feel of her soft skin against his calloused fingers made his whole body feel . . . different. Warmer.

Her lips parted, her breath escaping in a rush as her eyes widened. “Oliver.”

And then she yanked her hands away, pushing herself back from him. “We can’t be seen like this.”

“W--what?” he asked, feeling totally thrown by her reaction. And by her words.

“I got a phone call, from a reporter at the _Tattler_ , and apparently they’re doing a big story on you and--and they wanted to set up an interview with me because I’ve been seen with you so apparently I’m important to you, and I just realized I’ve said apparently twice in one sentence and normally my vocabulary is much better, but I’m just--I need to go home.” Felicity started fumbling with her laptop, pulling the power cable out of the outlet and trying to shove everything into her bag.

“Felicity, wait--I said I’d give you a ride. Let me just text Digg.” Oliver pulled his phone out, using this as a way to deal with what she said. A reporter wanted to ask Felicity questions? As part of a bigger story about him? He didn’t like the idea of Felicity being asked questions about him, didn’t like having her pulled into this world. Because Felicity being interviewed like that would make more than just Digg take notice. So would his mother and his sister and Tommy. And so would his enemies.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that--I’m fine with the bus.”

God, why wouldn’t she let him help her? Feeling frustrated, he took her chin in his hand and drew her eyes to his. “I am taking you home, Felicity. After we finish talking about this reporter and I know that you’re okay.”

With a jerk, she pulled her chin away from his fingers. “You can’t tell me what to do, Oliver,” she said angrily. But he could see a tremble in her fingers as she folded her arms over her chest. The move would normally be belligerent, but right now, on Felicity . . . it looked like she was trying to protect herself.

Running a hand over his hair, he took a deep breath. “I know--but I’m worried about you and . . .”

Oliver let his voice trail off, feeling unsure if he should finish that sentence. Unready to finish it. And a bit angry at himself, for getting himself into these situations that he wouldn’t let himself see through. When he knew how important it was to keep Felicity at arm’s length. And he needed to remember that his first priority was his mission to save Starling City.

For a long moment, Felicity didn’t say anything. She just looked at him. Then she let out a small sigh and nodded. “Okay. Okay, you can take me home. I mean, you can drive me.” Her fingers pushed up her glasses a little and she gave him a small smile, one with a hint of shyness to it.

Whether she agreed because she didn’t want to argue with him, or she was too tired to face the bus, Oliver found that he didn’t care. Because it meant more time with Felicity, and in spite of everything he told himself, all the warnings and reminders . . . he didn’t want to leave her alone.

XXX

She should be exhausted. Her feet should be heavy, her body limp and clumsy. By all rights, her mind ought to be numb and sluggish.

There was certainly some of that. But more than that . . . she felt alive. Invigorated.

And it was all thanks to Oliver.

It was crazy. The last thing she had expected was Oliver stepping up like he had. Well, no--that wasn’t true. He was her friend, after all--he had already proven that. But she hadn’t been prepared for the extent to which he had reached out to her today. Because . . . it didn’t feel like only friendship to her. Not with how gently he had touched her, not with how he kept his gaze locked on her . . .

Dropping her keys in the bowl by the front door, Felicity set her laptop down on her kitchen table and took a few deep breaths. Her mind was full of thoughts and ideas--and they weren’t only about Oliver or her meeting with Mr. Diggle.

_“Felicity, this is John Diggle, my bodyguard. Digg, meet Felicity Smoak.”_

_If she thought Oliver looked like a Greek god with his physique, Mr. Diggle was in a different class entirely. His arms were the size of small cars, Felicity thought a bit weakly as she shook his hand. Although he probably had to be this huge, if he was going to protect Oliver, who definitely looked like he could hold his own in a fight or keep clumsy damsels from face-planting on sidewalks. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Diggle.”_

_“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Smoak,” Mr. Diggle said, smiling at her politely as he firmly shook her hand._

_“Oh, please, call me Felicity,” she said quickly. “‘Miss Smoak’ always makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”_

_Mr. Diggle’s smile morphed into a grin and he looked at Oliver for a second before returning his gaze to her. “Then you’ll have to call me Digg.”_

_“I will,” Felicity said. She looked at Oliver and did her best to smile. “I think we’ve got everything straightened out now?”_

_For a moment, she thought Oliver looked a bit nervous, with how his eyes were moving between her and Digg. But then he took a breath and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take care of everything. Let’s get you home--you’ve got to be tired.”_

_“I am, a little,” she said, sliding out of the booth and lifting up her laptop bag, only to gasp softly when she realized Oliver was already out of the booth, standing in front of her, and holding her laptop bag._

_“I’m not an invalid,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him._

_“Let me feel like part of the modern age by carrying your laptop,” Oliver replied with a wide grin and a quick wink._

Felicity had laughed at Oliver joking about his ambivalence towards technology, even as she felt a flutter in her stomach at his flirty wink. But she knew Digg had noticed it, from the way he kept eyeing them through the rear view mirror on the drive home.

Not that Digg hadn’t seemed very nice. In fact, Felicity liked him immediately. And she hoped they might get to know each other, at least a little. It would be handy to have someone like Digg available as a friend, especially if reporters became more of a problem.

She could tell Oliver was upset about the _Tattler_ revelation. More than she thought he would be--after all, he was Oliver Queen. He had been the subject of newspapers and magazines and TV programs for his whole life, really. But when he found out that the Tattler wanted to talk to her, he told her that she didn’t have to worry about it.

Which was very sweet of him, but Felicity wasn’t sure how Oliver could keep the reporters from trying to find out more about her. Which was why one of the items on her to-do list was setting up the news alerts on her name--and on Oliver’s for good measure.

But first . . . she was going to face facts. She had been hiding from the truth for weeks, keeping the status quo intact. But her flashback earlier today had made her realize that such behavior was surviving, not living. And ever since she had been attacked, her goal had been to live.

So she was going to do something she had never done before . . . and write a novel.

Pulling out her laptop, she sat down at the table and quickly booted it up. Of course she would finish working on the other book, currently and unfortunately titled _This or That_ \--but she was going to use her already-completed research and the memories she had been recalling to plan a work of fiction. Something that would reveal more of Felicity Smoak.

It wasn’t until she had opened a new document that Felicity stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Because doing this--writing a novel, opening herself up like this? It was scary.

There was so much that she held inside herself. Even before the attack, she knew that she talked a lot but didn’t say that much, at least not about her own personal history or feelings. It was how she kept herself safe, or so she thought. How she guarded her all-too-strong, so-easily-hurt heart.

But keeping up walls and babbling hadn’t kept her from being hurt. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. When she was recovering and trying to stay positive while the SCPD looked for her attacker, Felicity had realized how few real friends she had. She had a huge network of acquaintances, both in real life and online, but friends? People who would stand by her, no matter what? People who dropped everything in order to help her?

Her mother. Captain Lance and Laurel. Eventually Sara. That was all.

Yes, there had been a few fans who had done a lot, by organizing fundraisers and posting messages on her Facebook page until she had shut it down. And there had been other people who had stepped in at various times. The love and encouragement online had been wide-spread . . . but also shallow. Other causes, other worries, made most people move on within a few weeks or months. Felicity didn’t fault them: she had been on the other side and understood it.

Yet she wanted more. She needed more. More connections, more intimacy.

Donna’s words from a few months ago drifted through her mind. About how proud she was at how Felicity opened up in the foreword to _Stray Wires_. And how she should do more of that: letting people in, revealing herself.

It might not be in the way her mother wanted, but this was how Felicity was going to start. By removing the barrier that her nonfiction writing needed and diving deep into her emotions. Letting herself feel and experience things that she had avoided. Crafting a set of characters and putting them into a story would let Felicity explore this desire for more.

Her fingers tapped against the keys as she began outlining. She started slowly, but soon the words were pouring out, in a stream-of-consciousness style she had never used before. Because she had never felt such a burning need to let it all out.

If she wasn’t so focused, so determined, she might let the fear overtake her. So Felicity kept writing, kept going, ignoring as much as she could. Her stomach rumbled and she bolted a sandwich. She dashed to the bathroom when she couldn’t wait any longer. Her hands cramped but she just rubbed one at a time against her thigh, massaging them as she typed one-handed. Her eyes grew dry and she grabbed a bottle of saline drops from the medicine cabinet so she could keep going.

Felicity kept going, even when a stray thought drifted through her mind but was quickly pushed aside in favor of working out a knotty plot problem.

_I wonder what Oliver would think of this._

XXX

Starling City Times, November 26, 2013  
 **Sebastian Blood Announces Mayoral Candidacy**

Starling magazine, December 2013  
 **At Home With Sebastian Blood, Candidate for Mayor**

Starling City Tattler, December 3, 2013  
 **Letter from the Editors: Welcome Our New Owners**

The _Tattler_ is pleased to announce that our little publication has attracted attention from on high: after years of living on the edge, financially speaking, your hometown paper has become part of the nationwide syndicate of publications owned by the Dearden Communication Group. Expect big changes in the coming months as we prepare for a bright new future!

Starling City Times, December 7, 2013  
 **Queen Consolidated Underwrites Toy Drive in the Glades**

Eye on Starling blog, December 11, 2013  
 **Top Ten Proposal Spots**

Looking to give your girlfriend a ring for Christmas? Why not do it at one of these romantic destinations?

2) _Table Salt_ : When money is no object, Table Salt should be your venue. The matchless wine list, excellent cuisine, and luxurious surroundings will make for a proposal to remember.

Publishers Weekly, December 13, 2013  
 **Manuscript Sales**

\--In an early Christmas gift for Ex Astris, the beleaguered imprint of Penguin Random House, Oliver Queen has signed a contract for a new work of nonfiction. It’s a surprising sign of loyalty from Queen, whose first book was published by Ex Astris nearly eight years ago. This new book is kept under lock and key, but has been described as a blending of wilderness survival strategies with introspective description. Could Queen be breaking the silence that’s surrounded his five missing years? We’ll have to wait until early summer 2014 to find out; Ex Astris is fast-tracking the publication of the sure-to-be bestseller.

Starling City Examiner, December 14, 2013  
 **Glades Gun Drive Announced**

Oliver Queen and Sebastian Blood are joining forces again, this time on a gun drive to be held this Saturday in the Glades. It will be a merry Christmas for some families thanks to this latest charitable project from mayoral candidate Sebastian Blood, who is currently up ten points in the polls.

Any individual who turns in a gun--licensed or unlicensed--will receive a one hundred dollar voucher good for anything at Bonner & Teller. A limit of three guns per individual will be accepted.

“I am grateful to Oliver Queen and Queen Consolidated, one of Starling City’s finest companies, for their generosity in underwriting the vouchers,” Blood said. “It’s a pleasure to work with Oliver again on such a worthy cause, particularly at this time of year.”

XXX

Oliver took a slow sip from the paper cup of coffee he was holding, wishing that he could have stopped at Jitters instead of having to drink this sludge.

His lips twisted a little as he realized how much his thoughts sounded like something that Felicity would say. But it wasn’t that surprising, since more and more lately, his thoughts kept turning to her.

A few days after that intimate conversation, she had sent him two texts.

_working on new project & finishing this or that at same time. replacing sleeping & bathing w/writing _

_can i owe you a few weeks of rain checks on coffee? I’ll make it up to you. :-)_

Reading over the messages, Oliver had felt his heart sink. Not even imagining what kind of expression she would have on her face to convey the emoticon had taken away the sting. Because . . . she had probably figured out that Oliver Queen was too much work. Too much trouble. And even though he told himself it was better this way, he missed her.

Other than a text of congratulations when news about his book contract broke, he hadn’t heard from Felicity in the last month and he hadn’t contacted her. She clearly wanted space and he would give it to her. Besides, if she was working on two projects at once, the last thing she needed was him distracting her.

At least he knew the _Tattler_ wouldn’t be bothering her, since he had bought the newspaper through a company that was one of his mother’s holdings. Which had been an uncomfortable conversation, explaining that he wanted to buy Starling’s biggest tabloid in an effort to protect Felicity--not that he told Moira that part. He had instead reminded Moira that the paper had been a thorn in the Queen family’s side long enough and she had agreed. The fact that the Tattler had also covered the Hood extensively was a bonus. Now Oliver could kill any stories that got too close to the truth, or let ones slip through in order to take the heat off himself.

Instead of their muckraking about his past and his five years away from Starling, the _Tattler_ would publish tomorrow an exclusive interview about his book. It was the first time he had talked about his new career and even now, he still felt slightly nervous about how much he had revealed. But it was necessary--more than necessary. There had been too many questions raised about what he was doing with himself, now that he wasn’t the biggest playboy in Starling. And charity events, like today’s gun drive, were few and far between.

Well, not really. The holidays were always busy with extra commitments and Oliver had agreed to more events than he normally would, in order to keep his mind off the anniversary of the Gambit’s shipwreck. And . . . and other things, too.

There was a good crowd today, he thought idly as he took one last sip and tossed the half-full cup into a trash can. Several area residents were milling around, enjoying the free hot beverages and chatting before the official start of the gun drive. It was more of a community event, really, since Oliver had suggested having a Santa Claus available for families to take holiday pictures and volunteers manning a gift wrap station.

Blood had protested, saying it wouldn’t look good to have gangbangers and families mingling. Oliver hadn’t agreed.

“Don’t you think it will make everyone more likely to be on their best behavior if there’s kids around?” he had asked. “And think of the photos: members of the Glades, pulling together to save their community.”

It was funny, how Blood fought against two warring instincts before reluctantly agreeing with Oliver. But the idea of the photo ops he could get must have swayed Blood, although his face looked like he had sucked on a bag full of lemons.

God, how did his thoughts keep sounding so much like what he imagined Felicity would say? He still felt like he barely knew her, yet . . .

Oliver drew up when he spotted his sister and Tommy in the crowd. Why were either of them here?

Moving through the clusters of people, nodding and accepting the handshakes offered him, it took him a few minutes to reach Thea. “Hey, Speedy,” he said, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder before looking at Tommy. “Hi.”

Tommy, leaning heavily on a set of crutches, gave a small nod. “Oliver.”

“Can’t you two kiss and make up already?” Thea asked, looking back and forth between them. “It’s Christmas.”

“What are you doing here, Thea?” Oliver asked, ignoring her question.

His sister sighed and lifted up a stack of flyers. “Verdant is running a gift market for local kids. They get to come and pick out presents for their parents or their siblings. We wanted to promote it here.”

“That’s a great idea,” Oliver said, smiling at Thea. “There used to be something like that every year when I was a kid. It was a red-letter day for all of us--everyone under the age of twelve in Starling City seemed to come.”

“It was Tommy’s idea to bring it back,” Thea said, shooting a fond look at Tommy.

Tommy met Oliver’s eyes, his expression more open than it had been in a long time. “We used to go every year. Remember?”

“How can I forget?” Oliver asked, unable to hold back a small smile. “Half the time we ended up picking the same thing for each other. And then competing over who would get Thea the best gift.”

He could tell that Tommy was trying not to smile. “Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with the gift market?” Oliver asked Thea as he kept his eyes on Tommy.

“Wanna open your wallet so we can help even more kids?” Thea said, smirking.

“Of course, but I meant like helping out at the event.”

Thea grinned and rested her hand on his arm. “We’d love to have you. Right, Tommy?”

Oliver couldn’t help holding his breath, wondering how this less-angry, more-open Tommy would react. He wasn’t sure what had caused Tommy to bend like this, appearing like he was ready to forgive Oliver, but it felt really good.

“It’d be good to have you there, Oliver,” Tommy said after a moment. Oliver could see how his hands gripped his crutches, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or from pain.

He opened his mouth to ask Tommy how he was doing, but the other man quickly nodded towards the crowd. “Isn’t that Sara Lance? I haven’t seen her in a while--and the woman she’s talking to looks really familiar.”

What?

Turning quickly and looking in the direction Tommy had gestured in, Oliver saw Sara and standing next to her was--

His breath literally caught when he saw Felicity. She looked a bit pale, huddled in her purple coat, and even from here he could see the signs of too much hard work on her face. But God, she was pretty. No, beautiful.

“Yeah, she does look familiar,” Thea said. “Ollie?”

“Huh?” He looked at his sister blankly, then realized what she had been asking. “Oh, it--it’s Felicity Smoak.”

“Wait, that hot nerd writer?” Tommy asked after a minute, at the same time Thea said, “The woman you keep having coffee with?”

Tommy and Thea looked at each other, and then they slowly turned their heads to eye Oliver.

“Why don’t we go say hello?” Oliver said, taking off before either of them could say anything else.

He had only taken a handful of steps when gunshots rang out and people started screaming.

XXX

Pulling her coat closer around her, Felicity shot Sara a look. “You know, my apartment is nice and warm. And so is Jitters, plus it has coffee. Actual coffee, not this brown swill that sullies the good name of coffee.”

Sara fiddled a little with the zipper on her leather jacket. “I know, but I haven’t seen you except in class for two weeks--and I know you’ve been working really hard. I thought getting some fresh air, taking a walk . . . it’d be good for you.”

Quickly, Felicity turned to face Sara. “No, you’re right--it is good for me. I have been working a lot. And--and we haven’t talked much, that’s true.”

Things had been awkward and tense between them ever since that day in Jitters. Felicity didn’t know whether to describe it as an argument or just a really frustrating discussion. Whatever it was, it had created a rift between them. One that Felicity wanted to fix, but she wasn’t sure how.

“Thank you for inviting me out here today. It’s great to see everyone getting so excited for Christmas,” Felicity said, keeping her voice light and not pointing out that Christmas wasn’t her holiday.

“I love this time of year,” Sara said, smiling a little. “Everyone seems nicer. And that’s something in Starling City.”

“Yeah,” Felicity agreed, sliding her hands into her coat pockets as they walked around the small park that was the site of some kind of event. “What’s going on here?”

Sara looked at Felicity for a long moment. “Don’t get mad at me.”

“That’s not exactly a good opener, Sara . . .”

She shook her head. “No, I mean--I wanted to prove to you that you don’t have to worry about me having feelings for Ollie.”

Frowning, Felicity looked around the park, trying to figure out what this had to do with Oliver. On the surface, it looked like an event for Sebastian Blood, the alderman who was going to run for mayor, dressed up as something for the residents of the Glades. There was a Santa Claus taking pictures with families, a bored-looking volunteer in a gift wrapping booth, and a banner stretched between two spindly trees promoting . . . a gun drive?

_Well, that was a combination you didn’t see every day._ Giving her head a shake, Felicity looked at Sara. “I don’t get it.”

Sara took a deep breath. “I ran into Thea Queen yesterday--I was talking to her about whether Verdant had any openings for a bartender, and she said that Ollie was co-sponsoring this event with Sebastian Blood. And I thought . . . well, if you haven’t really seen me and you’ve been working so much, you probably haven’t seen him, either. And maybe you have to see me and him together to realize that we’re just friends.”

Felicity opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say. Feeling incredibly confused, in fact. Because honestly, she wasn’t sure what would be enough to reassure her. She wasn’t sure there was anything that would be enough to convince her that she and Oliver might . . .

Ever since that reporter had called her, asking for an interview with her, it was easier to just think of Oliver as a writing partner. An incredibly attractive, surprisingly sweet writing partner, but nothing more than that. Yes, he flirted with her, and sometimes she flirted back a little, but--but that didn’t have to mean anything. It was better if it didn’t mean anything.

Because it would be very, very, _very_ easy to let herself get lost in Oliver Queen. And that scared her to death. Guys like him didn’t end up with girls like her. It was just . . . unthinkable.

So it wasn’t necessary to see Sara and Oliver together. Sara hadn’t needed to drag her out of her apartment and away from her work in order to set up some kind of cute flirty interaction with Oliver for her. Because the last thing she wanted was another reason to think about Oliver.

“It’s nice of you to do all this, Sara, but--”

“Oh, look, there’s Ollie,” Sara said, interrupting her in a too-chipper voice. “Let’s go say hi--and Tommy and Thea are here, too, and I haven’t seen Tommy in forever. C’mon, Felicity.”

Sara took her arm before Felicity could say anything more, tugging her towards the other side of the park. But suddenly, a quick succession of pops, making Felicity think of firecrackers, sliced through the air.

Then Felicity was on the ground, with Sara huddling beside her. And she realized that it wasn’t a bunch of teens setting off some illegal fireworks . . . it was gunfire.

“Stay down!” Sara hissed in her ear.

“But--Oliver--” Felicity said, trying to lift her head, cursing herself for wanting--no, _needing_ to see him right now. To make sure he was okay. Which was making it harder and harder to lie to herself about him.

To Felicity’s utter shock, Sara draped part of her upper body over Felicity’s head and shoulders. “Keep your head down!” The command in Sara’s voice compelled Felicity to stay down as she was told.

A whisper from Sara that sounded like “I’ve got her” drifted to Felicity’s ears, along with the screams of the crowd and shouts from the police officers, those who had been waiting for the gun drive to start. Whoever was shooting seemed to be making some kind of speech, claiming to be the new mayor of Starling City.

But at this moment, she couldn’t really focus on that.

Felicity didn’t know what to think. Yes, Sara had plenty of martial arts training, but this--this was like what a bodyguard--like what Digg would do for Oliver if he was here. Was he here? Was Oliver, his sister, his friend--were they safe?

How did Sara know to do this? She couldn’t let Sara do this--there was no way Felicity could let Sara risk getting hurt--she couldn’t let Sara take a bullet for her!

The first stirrings of the shivers tingled over her skin, but Felicity tried her best to ignore it. “What--what are we gonna do?” she whispered to Sara.

Sara glanced down, her face close to Felicity’s. “When I say go, get up and run. Get to your car. Don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t wait for me. I’ll be right behind you.”

Swallowing, Felicity nodded and moved her arms a little, positioning her hands underneath her shoulders. She’d need to push hard in order to get up from the ground quickly. Idly, she was thankful that she had left her purse in the trunk of her car, choosing to tuck her keys, wallet and phone into her coat pockets.

“Go! Go go go!”

Shoving hard, Felicity got to her feet and took off. Her breath burned as she inhaled and exhaled and she pumped her arms as hard as she could. Her feet, in her nearly threadbare panda flats, complained at the way she was pounding the pavement, but Felicity ignored them. She ignored all of it and focused on getting to her car.

She was running so fast that she wasn’t able to slow down enough to not slam into the side of her car. Fumbling in her pocket, she got out her keys and unlocked the car, yanking open the door and crouching down in the driver’s seat. She gave herself a moment to feel all the fear and panic before she looked out the window, searching for Sara.

Where was she? Sara was definitely faster than Felicity, there was no way--

The passenger door opened and Felicity gasped, only to sigh in relief as Sara eased herself into the car. “Oh my God, I was so scared!”

“Sorry--I twisted my ankle right as I got up,” Sara said, wincing a little.

“What?” Felicity yelped. “You should have told me to wait for you! I could have helped! Well, I could have dragged you along, but still!”

“No--I said I’d make sure you were safe,” Sara snapped, looking at Felicity.

This was a crazy situation, Felicity acknowledged, but something about Sara’s words stuck in her mind. “What? What are you talking about, Sara?” she asked, even as she shoved the key into the ignition.

Sara sighed and slumped back against the seat, her breaths coming fast and shallow. “I told Ollie I had you, so he could take care of Tommy and Thea. Because he looked like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place: knowing he had to take care of them, but also wanting to make sure you were safe.”

A sob that she tried to choke back--but couldn’t--escaped Felicity as she threw the car into gear. “We’re gonna have to have a talk about how you seem to think Oliver is wildly in love with me, Sara.”

“Your words, not mine,” Sara said, her voice a bit slurred.

Felicity’s head whipped around, fixing on her friend and feeling her heart pound at the sight of a bloody smear on her leather jacket. “Sara? _Sara!_ ”

XXX

The minute he heard the gunshots, Oliver was moving on instinct, dropping to the ground and assessing the situation. He was in an open, flat location with no cover. There were an unknown number of assailants firing guns. He was unarmed. And he was surrounded by people who had no idea who he really was--people that he had to protect. Thea, Tommy . . . Felicity.

Slightly behind him and to his left, Thea was crouching on the ground, helping Tommy get down on the ground even with her eyes wide from fear. To his right, Felicity was spread flat, with Sara beside her. Oliver glanced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. Feeling like he was being forced to choose.

Sara caught his eye and mouthed “I’ve got her,” gesturing to Felicity. He frowned a little, noting how she was covering Felicity’s head, clearly attempting to protect her from any random gunfire. Where had she learned to do that? It was the kind of move a cop would make--perhaps her father had taught her?

He didn’t have time for this. There was no way the Hood could intervene in this situation; he’d have to hope the SCPD could handle it, and fortunately there were plenty of officers here. He could deal with this ‘Mayor’ later. Now, he needed to get Thea and Tommy away from this, since he knew Felicity was okay.

Nodding to Sara and giving one last lightning-fast look at Felicity, Oliver crawled over to Thea and Tommy. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said, lifting up Tommy’s arm. “Thea, get his crutches--I’ll carry him.”

Thea, her eyes watery, nodded and reached for the crutches lying on the ground, but Tommy yanked his arm, trying to break free of Oliver’s hold. “No!”

“Tommy, we don’t have time for this!” Oliver said, his voice very close to the deep growl of the Hood’s. He could tell Tommy noticed it, because his jaw set.

“I swear to God, Oliver Jonas Queen, if you try to carry me, I will fucking kill you--and everyone will find out what happened on that trip to Mexico, too.”

With a soft curse, Oliver pulled Tommy’s arm over his shoulder. “If you get shot, I’m totally gonna say ‘I told you so’.” He nodded to Thea. “Verdant. Stay in front of us and keep low.”

“I’ll let you,” Tommy responded, his voice a bit strained as Oliver manhandled him up and basically half-hopped, half-strode with Oliver’s help. They followed Thea, moving through the streets of the Glades. “And--and don’t think I forgot about Felicity.”

“This is what you wanna talk about now?” Oliver asked, looking around. “When we haven’t talked in months?”

Tommy gestured towards Thea, the message unspoken yet clear: they couldn’t talk about their real issues with her in earshot. Oliver nodded in understanding and tried to keep his voice even. “Maybe now you can forgive me, with saving your life and all?”

“Maybe. I was--already thinkin’ about--calling you and telling you--my Christmas gift was my delightful presence.”

Oliver couldn’t hold back a small snort of laughter, feeling an incredible surge of relief. Because . . . because he had missed Tommy. A lot. And if he was willing to forgive him, Oliver was ready to let Tommy in. To finally answer some of the questions he knew Tommy had about his years on the island, about the choices he had made, about how he was trying to be better. It would be hard. But Oliver knew he needed Tommy’s help--and he was going to make sure his friend knew that.

“Delightful? Is that the word you wanna use?” Oliver asked, feeling more confident as Verdant came into sight. “I’d use offputting, but for some reason, I still kind of like you.”

“Awwww,” Tommy said, grinning at Oliver even as the sweat rolled down his face. “How sweet. I kinda like you, too.”

“C’mon,” Oliver said, shifting Tommy’s arm a bit higher around his shoulders. All the physical therapy had made a difference: Tommy’s arms and shoulders were a lot more muscular than they used to be. But he had to be hurting with the pace Oliver was setting. “You’ve got this.”

He groaned, but it didn’t sound like it was from pain. “Is that your attempt at motivating me? You suck at it, Queen.”

“It’s ‘cause I don’t have a rack,” Oliver agreed. The sound of Tommy’s laughter was the best thing he had heard in a long time.

“You two are so gross. Like a married couple who don’t have sex,” Thea said as she yanked the door of Verdant open.

“He should be so lucky--to be married to me,” Tommy said, panting softly. “Although--maybe he’s got--a better candidate in mind?”

Thea smirked. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. Like old times.”

Rolling his eyes, Oliver helped Tommy inside and immediately eased him onto the bouncer’s stool that was just inside the door. “Now I wish you had stayed mad at me. It’s not fair to have both of you ganging up on me.”

“You missed it,” Thea said, pulling her ringing phone out of her pocket. “It’s Roy.” She immediately answered it, walking away from them and talking quietly.

Now alone, Oliver looked at Tommy and pressed his lips together. Because it was one thing to put on an act for Thea, behaving like they always had together. But both of them were different now: they both knew so much more, they both had faced trials and come out the other side. Yet that didn’t mean they could repair what was broken between them.

“Oh my God, what is with the brooding?”

Oliver blinked at Tommy. “What?”

“Are you taking post-grad work in how to be a dark, brooding hero after five years of study on that island? Because I think you’ve got it,” Tommy said. He scrunched up his face and lowered his voice an octave. “Can we ever go back to what we used to have? Can you forgive me when I betrayed you?” He shook his head and let his voice return to normal. “Seriously, it’s amazing that I want to be your friend again.”

“You--you called me a hero.” Maybe it was a strange thing to get stuck on, but as soon as Tommy had said that, Oliver had found himself totally fixated on that word. Because how had Tommy changed his mind like that? When he learned the truth, Tommy had called him a killer. Now he thought he was a hero?

Tommy shifted on the stool, looking a bit awkward. “I did. Because I noticed you stopped killing everyone, you know. It just took me a while to see it, because . . . because I was pissed as hell. At you, at my father, at losing my leg--all of it. It was easier to be mad at you and blame you for everything that went wrong.”

Feeling the urge to fidget, Oliver rubbed his hands against his jeans. “What--” He coughed a little and cleared his throat. “What changed?”

“A lot of therapy,” Tommy said matter-of-factly. “Not just the physical kind. I didn’t go into details about you, but working through my issues about my dad, about what happened to me . . . it put things in a different light.”

“Yeah?” Oliver asked, taking a moment to really look at Tommy. There were a few lines on his face that hadn’t been there a year and a half ago. But there was also a kind of calmness. He’d seen glimpses of it earlier this year, as Tommy seemed to come into his own running the club. But now, it was like he had gotten it figured out.

It was inspiring. And really good to see.

Tommy nodded. “Yeah.” He held his hand out towards him. “There’s a lot we gotta talk about, Oliver, but . . . but I’m sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, Oliver told himself to play this cool. To be sincere and serious about how much Tommy’s forgiveness meant. But he knew he was smiling widely as he bypassed Tommy’s hand to hug him. “I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly before patting his back and pulling away.

His friend nodded, a grin appearing on his face. “Now, you’re gonna tell me what’s been going on with you and Felicity.”

“Nope,” Oliver said, returning Tommy’s grin. “I’m gonna get Thea home and check in with Digg.”

Groaning, Tommy picked up the crutches that Thea had left by his side. “This isn’t over, Ollie. I may not know all your secrets, but the ones I do know are really embarrassing. And it can’t be that hard to find the phone number of one Felicity Smoak.”

He couldn’t say he was too excited about the idea of talking about Felicity with Tommy--but Oliver knew that Tommy would definitely make good on his threat. And besides . . . another opinion on what he was doing with Felicity wouldn’t hurt. Not that he was really doing anything--that was the whole idea.

And apparently, his brain was still in Felicity-mode.

“We will, I promise,” Oliver said.

Tommy looked him over, then nodded. “Okay, then I’ll talk to you later.”

With a surprising amount of ease, Tommy moved over towards the bar. Oliver watched him go, feeling a wealth of emotions. But greatest of all was hope.

Because things were looking up.

XXX

Sometimes it sucked, being well aware of your flaws. Felicity sometimes wished she could be one of those people who were blissfully unaware of their bad qualities--or that she had the ability to not worry about them so much.

But that wasn’t who she was. So knowing she was hiding from her issues by burying herself in work was a hard pill to swallow. Because her writing was so important to her. And everything on that front was _working_ right now. The novel was coming along better than she had ever expected, and it had the unplanned benefit of making her more eager to work on _This or That_ , too.

Refilling her mug with coffee, Felicity ran a hand through her hair and winced as her fingers caught on yet another tangle. She really needed to shower: the last time she had done so had been three days ago when Sara had dragged her out of the apartment and--

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep herself calm and prevent a flashback. _Everything is okay_ , she reminded herself. _Sara’s fine, Oliver’s fine, you’re fine. You’re strong and you’re free and you’re safe_.

The mantra worked, letting her slowly open her eyes. It had been three days and she hadn’t let herself deal with what had happened. Other than making sure that Sara was okay.

Sara had twisted her ankle, like she told Felicity--but she had also been grazed by a bullet. She had argued that she was fine, but Felicity had refused to listen and taken Sara straight to the hospital. And that was when she got the bigger shock: the doctor who treated her friend asked Felicity if she knew about Sara’s bruised ribs and recently-dislocated shoulder.

It had been all Felicity could do not to cry. The idea that Sara was hurting like that already, yet hadn’t hesitated to drop and protect her during the shooting . . . it made total sense, with the kind of person that Sara was, but Felicity didn’t understand why Sara felt the need to protect her like that. And more than that, she felt guilty. Guilty for letting a stupid argument get in the way of their friendship. Because clearly Sara hadn’t felt like she could talk to Felicity about this. And she didn’t want to be that kind of friend.

Felicity wrapped her hands around her mug and sipped her coffee slowly, working to come up with some kind of plan. Because she wanted to talk to Sara about this, but she needed advice for how to do that. And Sara wasn’t the only person she needed to talk to.

It hadn’t escaped her attention that Oliver hadn’t contacted her at all in the last month. With her writing, it had been easy to not think about it, but that wasn’t to say she hadn’t been conscious of how silent her phone had been. Not that Oliver had been one to blow up her phone or anything, but he had certainly sent her occasional texts and even called a few times. But ever since she had said she couldn’t take the time for coffee with him, it had been radio silence.

Now she wished they had gotten a chance to talk at the event, like Sara had wanted. Maybe seeing each other in person would make it easier to get past this awkwardness.

Rolling her shoulders a little, Felicity set her empty mug in the sink and walked over to her laptop, saving what she had been working on. She was in good shape with both books. She should call Laurel to give her an update, as well as letting her know about the novel--a fact she had been holding off on revealing to her agent. And Felicity could kill two birds with one phone call, by asking Laurel about Sara. Perhaps Sara had let something slip in the emails she exchanged with her sister.

And after she called Laurel, she would call Oliver. But first, a shower and some clothes that weren’t pajamas. If she was feeling particularly crazy and/or nervous, she might even eat something, too.

Once she had showered, changed into a pair of jeans and a bright pink sweater, and eaten a bowl of only-slightly-stale cereal, Felicity knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She picked up her phone and hit the contact for Laurel.

In brisk tones, Laurel answered and Felicity took a deep breath. “Hi, Laurel, it’s Felicity. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure. What’s going on?” Laurel asked distractedly.

She would cut right to the change, Felicity thought with slight amusement. “Well . . . it’s both professional and personal. What do you want to talk about first?”

“Hmm,” Laurel said, sounding more focused. Less like she was juggling a couple of different tasks and was instead giving Felicity her full attention. “I guess the professional. Which means the book?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, walking over to the table and sitting down. “It’s good news. At least, I think it is, but I suppose it’s all relative, since I’m about to make your life a lot harder and I don’t really want to do that and--”

“Felicity! What is it?”

Should she ease into this or just blurt-- “I’m still working on _This or That_ , and we have got to come up with a better title for it, by the way, but--but I’m also writing a novel.”

There was a long silence, and then Laurel did something unexpected. “Woo-hoo!”

Felicity pulled the phone away from her ear, due to the volume of Laurel’s voice--and the complete lunacy of her serious, straight-laced agent going ‘woo-hoo!’ “Laurel?” she asked, feeling confused.

“ _Finally_. I’ve been waiting for you to realize you should be writing fiction forever.” Laurel’s voice sounded very amused. “Especially when This or That has been like pulling teeth for you. I could tell, you know--there’s something that doesn’t fully click with it. Not that it isn’t good--it is. But it doesn’t have the same spark as your previous books.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me about this?” Felicity asked, slumping down in her chair. “You just let me wander around all this time!”

“You had to learn that for yourself. Just like Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” Laurel said, referencing her favorite movie. “I knew it would sink in for you someday . . . although I was going to start hinting about trying something else once you finished _This or That_.”

Gazing at her laptop, Felicity couldn’t help sighing. Whether it was from relief or frustration or uncertainty, she didn’t know. “So . . . so you want to see what I’m working on?”

“Of course,” Laurel said. “I’m sure it’s great, Felicity. Don’t tell me anything about it--I want to be surprised.”

“Then how do you know it’ll be great?”

“I know you,” Laurel said simply. “It’ll be great.”

Ducking her head even though Laurel wasn’t there, Felicity couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Laurel.”

“You’re welcome. Send me whatever you’ve got and I’ll take a look.”

“I will--” A beeping from her phone made Felicity look at the screen. Her heart plummeted into her stomach when she saw the caller ID: _Oliver Queen_.

“Hey, Laurel? I’ve got another call--can I call you later?”

Laurel agreed and Felicity quickly hit accept, only then realizing that she had no idea why Oliver might be calling her or what she should say to him. “H-hello?”

“Hey,” Oliver said, his warm voice sending shivers over her skin--shivers of an entirely different kind from her panic attacks.

“Oliver,” she said, feeling her breath rush out of her. “Hi. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting your work--”

It was all she could do not to shriek out ‘no, don’t hang up!’ Somehow, she managed to gently interrupt him. “No, no, you’re not interrupting at all. Besides, I . . . I want to know how you’re doing, stranger.”

She thought she heard his breath catch, but it must be her imagination. “Actually . . . I was wondering if you might be free for lunch today? I was hoping--I was hoping you might want to help me celebrate my book sale?”

Did he . . . was he _nervous_? In her wildest dreams, she didn’t think Oliver ever got nervous. Honestly, it was adorable.

“I’d love to,” she said quickly. “Because it’s definitely something to celebrate, Oliver. I’m so proud of you.” She bit her lip, blushing a little at how silly she must sound.

But Oliver didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you, Felicity,” he said, his voice all low and breathy and full of emotion.

“You’re welcome,” she said, gripping the phone tightly. “Um, where and when?”

“Do you know Table Salt? I booked a table for one o’clock . . .”

The fanciest, most expensive restaurant in Starling City? Felicity blinked. “Yes, I know it. Not as if I’ve actually been there--I haven’t--but I know of it. It--it sounds like a great place to celebrate.”

Like engagements. Because wasn’t Table Salt just named one of the ten best places in Starling to pop the question? And that was the _last_ thing she needed in her mind right now.

“It is,” Oliver said. “Can I meet you there? I have some work to do--Isabel’s waiting for me to finish a round of revisions.”

“Yes--of course,” Felicity said quickly. “I’ll meet you there at one.” She paused and closed her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too,” Oliver replied, his voice quiet. “Bye, Felicity.”

Before she could say the same, he hung up and left Felicity staring at her phone. When it sunk in that she only had two and a half hours, she dashed to her closet, looking for something that she could wear and giving many thanks that she had already showered.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you were excited about the lunch date--but there’s a moment near the end of this chapter that I’m super-excited for y’all to see, too. So without any further delay, enjoy!

Starling City Tattler, December 16, 2013  
 **Exclusive: Oliver Queen Reveals His Secret**

“It’s not what’s expected of me.” It’s practically the first words out of Oliver Queen’s mouth when asked about his decision to write a book. Of course, we all remember Oliver’s first book, _The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account_. Oliver remembers it, too, with mixed emotions.

“Honestly, I kind of fell into writing that book, because of the Twitter account that [best friend] Tommy [Merlyn] set up,” Oliver says. “This new book is a much better reflection of me.” 

And just who is this Oliver Queen? The Starling City _Tattler_ sat down with Oliver for an exclusive, in-depth interview at his family’s luxurious mansion. 

Starling City Times, December 18, 2013  
 **Criminal Known as ‘The Mayor’ Captured Thanks to the Hood**

Starling City Examiner, December 19, 2013  
 **Female Vigilante Sightings Increase; Is The Hood To Blame?**

XXX

One of the benefits to being Oliver Queen was being seated immediately at any restaurant. Which meant he could wait for Felicity at their table, hiding his nervousness, instead of pacing in the lobby. 

His fingers rubbed against his thumb before he checked the time on his phone. It was a quarter to one, so Felicity wouldn’t be here for a while. He had left the Foundry early when Digg had admitted they had hit a wall in their search for the identity of the blonde vigilante. And his plans to kill time with Tommy hadn’t panned out, between Tommy dealing with a delivery and throwing questions about Felicity towards him.

There was only so long that he could keep holding off Tommy. At some point, sometime very soon, he’d have to answer Tommy’s questions. Which meant he had to come up with the answers in the first place. 

When his phone vibrated against his hand, Oliver quickly looked at the screen. His body relaxed as he saw it wasn’t a text from Felicity, but a phone call from Isabel. 

“Hello, Isabel,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” 

“Yes, well, I wasn’t expecting Ex Astris to all but declare bankruptcy today,” Isabel said tartly. 

“What?” Oliver asked, turning in his chair a little and keeping his voice low. 

Isabel huffed. “Martha Ellis is going to be fired within the week, and word is that she’s going to take half the imprint with her. Given their lack of success lately, it’s no great loss for her to go, but Penguin Random House might decide it’s time to cut bait and close the imprint. And they don’t have to honor any of the contracts that Ex Astris signed.” 

“You’re kidding,” Oliver said, feeling a stab of worry. 

“In this case, there’s no legal requirement for the parent company to honor a contract made by one of its independently-operating subsidiaries, thanks to subsection 12, paragraph (a) in your contract. I knew I should have pushed harder to get that clause taken out,” Isabel said. “They might still agree to publish your book, given that you’re you and a publicity goldmine, even if they think the book sucks, but I wanted to tip you off that we might need to start over.” 

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to keep his voice neutral and not sound disappointed. “Right,” Oliver said slowly. “Thank you. Keep me posted.” 

“I will,” Isabel said, hanging up without saying goodbye, as was her habit. Social niceties weren’t one of her strong suits--coupled with her attitude, Oliver had sometimes wondered if she was really the best agent for him. But that question would have to wait for now. 

Oliver slid his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket, his mind mulling over this new development. If Ex Astris did close, he was sure his mother would use it as a sign his “dabbling” should end and he should go to work at Queen Consolidated. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He should have told Isabel that of course they would try again and she should see who else might want to publish--

Suddenly, a much more disturbing thought entered his mind: he wasn’t the only person who would be affected by this. Felicity would be, too. And she would be affected a lot more than he would. 

Should he tell her? It would certainly wreck the mood he was hoping this lunch would have. And more than that, it would add another worry to her shoulders. Oliver could tell that Felicity was just barely getting by, financially speaking: in her references to shopping at Goodwill and dying her own hair, with how she would skimp on her coffee but still pay a normal tip at Jitters, and by how beat-up her computer looked even though she loved technology. If Ex Astris went under, she might be forced to make choices she didn’t want to make. Choices she shouldn’t have to make. 

That was the last thing he wanted for Felicity. 

Isabel had said the news would come out soon . . . there couldn’t be that much harm in not telling Felicity about Ex Astris. And it might buy him enough time to figure out a way he could help her--a way she would let him help her. Felicity was stubborn and fair-minded. If he paid for her coffee, she made sure to buy his the next day. So he knew she wouldn’t accept money from him. 

But what could he do? He was so caught up in wondering that it took him a moment to realize the maitre d’ was leading Felicity towards the table. And when he saw her, he felt his stomach tighten. 

Her hands were clasped together in front of her, looking a bit shy and a bit nervous. In her bright pink sweater and navy pencil skirt, she stood out in the room full of women in black dresses. Her hair wasn’t back in its normal ponytail, but loose and wavy around her shoulders. It was more casual, less polished than her hair normally was, and he liked it. 

Standing up, Oliver couldn’t help smiling at her as he lightly took her elbow to help her into her seat. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she said, smiling back at him before pushing up her glasses. “I’m a little late--” 

“No, you’re perfectly on time.” He noticed her cheeks go pink at his words and he could feel his smile get wider as he took his seat. “It’s great to see you.” 

Her eyes lowered. “I feel horrible.” 

“What?” he asked, feeling his breath catch.

She hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes back to his. “It makes me feel like an awful friend, how I went ‘I’m too busy for you!’ and completely bailed on our coffee routine.” 

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand. He really wanted to wrap his fingers around hers, but he held back. “Hey, you didn’t bail on me. It’s okay.” 

“Really?” she asked, her voice so hopeful that it made him think this was something that was really bothering her. “Because people have done that to me and I--” She checked herself, pressing her lips together, and Oliver realized she had said more than she meant to say . . . while for the first time revealing something deeply personal about herself to him. 

Felicity had been left by people she cared about. 

“I understood, Felicity,” he said, giving in and taking her hand. “You told me what was going on, I knew how to reach you. But I know how important your work is to you. I wanted you to be able to work without interruptions, so I left you alone.”

From the intensity of her gaze, he felt like Felicity was trying to read his mind, trying to make sure he wasn’t holding back on her. Even though it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, he let her look straight into his eyes so she could discover whatever she was looking for there. After a moment, she sighed in relief and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Oliver.” 

How did she make holding hands seem so . . . intimate? Oliver forced himself to draw his hand away and picked up his menu. “You’re welcome. Although you know you’re going to have to tell me something about what’s kept you so busy for the last month. A text was enough at the start, but now . . . I think I deserve more than a hundred and forty characters of explanation.” 

The smile that flashed across her face was mischievous and adorable and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed her until this moment. “Sure. Since a text can be up to a hundred and sixty characters, that’s how much you’ll get.” 

Oliver grinned at her. “I walked right into that one, huh?”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Yep.” 

“Wait, then why is Twitter a hundred and forty if a text is one-sixty?” he asked, leaning forward and prompting a quiet giggle from Felicity. 

Yeah, this was what he wanted. Making Felicity laugh. 

XXX

Table Salt’s reputation was well-deserved, Felicity thought as she leaned back in her chair. The food had been amazing and the glass of wine Oliver had insisted she have with lunch--claiming it wasn’t a celebration otherwise--had been perfection. 

But honestly, the company was what made lunch so good. Because she could have had just as good of a meal at Big Belly Burger, if Oliver had been there with her. Not that Big Belly served wine, but the fact remained that it was Oliver who made this so . . . so _good_.

Their conversation had covered a range of topics, to her surprise. She had thought they’d be mostly talking about the same things they did when they got coffee: writing, pop culture, things like that. And while they did talk a little bit about his contract, Oliver seemed to steer the conversation away from work, especially after she had spent five minutes talking about how excited she was for him and how hopeful she was for his success. Instead, they spent the bulk of their time talking about Oliver making up from some fight with his best friend, Tommy, questions about Hanukkah vs. Christmas, and even a discussion about the hooded vigilante, of all things. 

“I don’t know what to think about him--I’m assuming it’s a he, even though it could be a woman,” Felicity admitted. “Because how do we know that he’s doing this for the right reasons? But then, look at the crime rate in the Glades. Whoever he is, he’s making a difference and it seems to be for the better.” She paused to sip her coffee, then wrinkled her nose.

“What?” Oliver asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

“It’s just--can’t he come up with a better name? The Hood? No wonder people mistrust him.” 

Oliver laughed quietly--God, he looked so handsome when he laughed. “Really? That’s what bothering you?” 

“Hey, names--names and words--are important,” Felicity said, smiling at him. “We both know that.”

“Yeah, we do,” he said, his blue eyes especially piercing. A silence fell between them, one that had a certain kind of . . . tension wasn’t the right word. Or electricity, either. She couldn’t come up with a word that came close to describing how this felt. It made her feel like she was using every cell of her brain--that in fact, she was aware of every cell in her body, and that their purpose was to make her be here for this moment. 

“I’m writing a novel,” she said, unable to look away from him. “That’s what the other project is. A novel.” 

The waiter, asking if they wanted more coffee and then the business of refilling cups and adding sugar and cream, broke the spell between them and prevented Oliver from replying right away--which gave Felicity time to get nervous. Because this was so different for her, so new. Only Laurel and now Oliver knew she was writing a novel and what if they told her it was a bad idea? What if Laurel thought it sucked? What if Oliver . . . well, she couldn’t come up with an objection for him to make, but what if he did have one? 

The self-doubt was just so scary. When it came to her previous books, there had been nerves, yes, but nothing like this. Because this novel had more of Felicity Smoak in it than anything else did, and she felt so much more protective of it as a result. It really was like her baby. 

“So, a novel?” Oliver’s voice was soft and warm, his attention fully fixed on her. 

She nodded, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. “Yeah. Working on _This or That_ , I had all these memories come back to me and it made me think there could be a story there.”

“Tell me about it?” he asked. 

It was so tempting to give in. To start telling him every little detail about the book, about how it was making her open herself up, how it revealed just who she was. But . . . but something made her hold back. Maybe it was an instinct for self-preservation. That ever-needed reminder that she couldn’t let herself be swallowed up by him. 

Or maybe it was something more shallow, more selfish, guiding her. She wasn’t proud of it, but she couldn’t help noticing how he wasn’t telling her anything about his own book. How he never talked about what he was writing. At this point, it was more likely she’d find out more about his new book from the blogosphere than from Oliver. And it was small and petty of her to feel that way, she knew. Because it wasn’t like she was an open book--no pun intended. 

For whatever reason, she just didn’t feel ready to tell him. Because--because--God, she didn’t know. She was just scared. And she hated being scared. Especially with Oliver. It just felt weird to be scared around him, when she trusted him with so much. 

“I know this is gonna sound strange, but . . . but I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” she said eventually, looking at him. “It’s still so new--it’s like my baby. Well, every book is my baby, but this one is--it’s like a preemie and needs extra care and attention in order to get strong, and it feels like if I talk too much about it, things will go wrong.” 

Felicity thought she saw a flicker of something in Oliver’s eyes. Something that might be disappointment, which nearly made her change her mind. But it went so fast that she didn’t have the time to be sure. 

“I only told Laurel today about it--so you were the first person to know I was even working on something new,” she said quickly, feeling the need to reassure him. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said, folding his arms on top of the table and leaning on them a little, moving into her space. “I understand. No one but Isabel has seen any of what I’ve written recently. Because it’s so hard to talk about with people, to make it into something that’s not--to talk about a book you’ve written like you’re talking about the weather. And sending the book to her . . . it was the worst feeling.” 

“It is the worst!” Felicity said, latching onto this change in topic, wanting to make this more like one of their normal conversations. “Every time I send chapters to Laurel, I’m constantly thinking, in the back of my mind, about when I’m going to hear back from her, trying to prepare myself if she hates it . . .” She smiled a little and shrugged her shoulders. “I get a little paranoid.”

Oliver gazed at her for a long moment--long enough for that crackling, unquantifiable, undefinable feeling to come back. “I wouldn’t call it being paranoid. And you should know . . . whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.” 

There was a note in his voice, coupled with the look in his eyes, that made Felicity wonder if he was talking about more than just her book. If maybe he was trying to say more, without actually saying it--without committing himself to the words.

It was amazing, how expressive his eyes and his face could be. When she had first encountered him last year, when he had recently returned from the island, most of the time he kept up a mask. A bland expression and a practiced smile, a facade that was occasionally broken by some real emotion. But ever since they had started spending time together, she had seen less and less of that “Oliver Queen” mask. Now, she had Oliver, who was gently self-deprecating, a good listener, someone who cared deeply about the people in his life. At this moment, she sensed that she was included in that small, exclusive circle of people . . . and she might even have a special place in that circle.

Or maybe she was just imagining it, because she wanted there to be more. Wanted to put an end to this limbo they were in. Because while she always said that Oliver and her were friends, it wasn’t true. There was something there. Something more. She didn’t need Sara’s teasing or Mr. Diggle’s curious gaze to tell her that. She could feel it. 

She didn’t think she was the only one who felt it, either. But Oliver was clearly not ready to put anything into words. 

And right now . . . neither was she. 

XXX

The last person he expected to see as he slowly walked into the Foundry was his best friend. 

“Tommy?” Oliver asked, drawing up short and feeling strangely exposed. “What--what are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Tommy said, leaning back in the office chair in front of the computer table. “Diggle let me in.” 

Oliver cut his eyes towards his bodyguard. “Why not?” Digg asked with a shrug. 

“Also, I bribed him,” Tommy said. “He shares your weakness for really old Scotch.” He held up a bottle of forty-year-old Laphroaig and Oliver couldn’t help a small grin.

“Is this one of the bottles from the case I had in my office?” Oliver asked, setting his bow down and taking the bottle from Tommy, along with the glass he offered. 

“It might be the only bottle left,” Tommy said quietly. 

Pausing with the glass halfway to his lips, Oliver looked curiously at Tommy. “There were at least four bottles in the case, I thought.” 

“Yeah, well, three of them might have gotten broken.” 

The dark tone and sense of utter finality in Tommy’s voice made Oliver know he couldn’t ask him about it. Not yet, at least. Instead, he held his glass up. “A toast?” 

Tommy held up his glass, his eyes on Oliver. “And what are we gonna toast?” 

Holding his gaze, Oliver spoke firmly. “прочность. Strength.”

With a slow nod, Tommy clinked his glass against Oliver’s before tossing back the last of his Scotch. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Digg said, finishing his glass. “You’re favoring your right knee again.” 

“Yeah . . . I had a run-in with my blonde problem,” Oliver said, taking a quick sip and then easing himself over to the med table. He knew Digg would want to take a look and right now, he wasn’t up for arguing. 

“Felicity?” Digg asked, his voice sounding surprised. 

Oliver looked up at Digg in confusion. “What? No. The female vigilante.” 

Digg pressed his lips together and nodded, looking a bit flustered, before he bent down to start checking on Oliver’s knee. 

To distract himself from what Digg was doing, Oliver gritted his teeth a little. “She’s got a little training, although there’s some holes in her attacks. Maybe an amateur trained her? And some kind of sonic device--something that could break glass.”

“That’s not mentioned in any of the police reports,” Digg said slowly. “Probably keeping it out to prevent copycats.”

Rather than show how Digg’s not-so-gentle probing was affecting him, Oliver just nodded. After a moment, Tommy broke the silence.

“Isn’t it interesting that your partner in this whole . . . whatever-you-call-it, immediately thought of Felicity when you mentioned a blonde problem?” 

“You’re acting like a girl talking to her best friend during first period study hall, Tommy,” Oliver shot back, grimacing as Digg prodded his knee. He picked up his glass and took a bigger sip, then sighed. “Okay. We might as well do this now.” He gave Tommy a ‘go ahead’ gesture. 

Tommy’s grin was wide and nearly a smirk. “Okay. So . . . Felicity Smoak. The woman who, seven years ago, you clearly had a crush on.” 

“I did not have a crush,” Oliver immediately retorted. “I was just--I wasn’t expecting her. To be . . . like she was. Is.” 

“Fine, you didn’t have a crush on her. But you actually treated her like you were interested in her for reasons other than you normally had when it came to a hot woman. Fast-forward to now, when she’s blonde and still hot, and you have a standing three-day-a-week coffee date and take her out to lunch at Table Salt.” Tommy eyed him and Oliver set his jaw. 

“How did you know all that?” Before Tommy could speak, Oliver came up with the answer. “Thea.”

Tommy nodded, adding a splash more of Scotch to his glass. “She’s very curious about her. And a curious Thea is a very, very dangerous Thea.”

He should have known. He’d been worrying about Tommy all this time, when it was Thea he should have been worrying about. Because Thea was crafty enough to sic Tommy on him, and Tommy would be glad to report back to Thea, so she could deliver the killing blow. 

“Your sister actually asked me last week if I knew why you’ve been so grumpy lately,” Digg said, standing up. “You’re going to want some of those island herbs. And maybe stay off the knee for a night or two.” 

“Not happening,” Oliver said, slowly rising to his feet and heading to the area where he kept his box of island supplies. “I got lucky tonight, crossing paths with that woman. I need to be out there so I can track her.” 

“Where’d you find her tonight?” 

Oliver looked over at Tommy. “Over near CNRI,” he said slowly, not understanding where he was going with this. 

“You could put up surveillance cameras,” Tommy suggested. At Oliver’s surprised look, he shrugged. “I did it here, last spring after . . . after you sold me your shares in Verdant. I needed a way to cover more of the club than I could do on my feet. Now that I’ve only got one, it’s even more important.” 

As always, Oliver felt a stab of guilt at the reminder of Tommy’s injury. Tommy gave him a look that said he knew what Oliver was thinking--which was probably true, between their years of friendship and seeing that guilty look on other people’s faces. “It’s pretty simple to setup and monitor the cameras. I could help.” 

“No. Absolutely not,” Oliver said, turning around quickly to face Tommy, unable to hold back a wince at how his knee felt underneath him. 

“Why, ‘cause I’m a cripple?” Tommy said, pushing himself up from the chair and glaring at him. 

“Because I don’t want you involved in this! Not when I just got you back!” 

His voice rang out through the Foundry, wavering slightly. Oliver took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face.

“It’s a good idea,” Digg said quietly. “It’d let you rest while still keeping an eye out for that woman.” 

“Digg--” Oliver began, before Tommy interrupted him. 

“I can do this, Oliver. I’ve always been better with tech than you have, and . . . and I think it’s time I learned something about how my best friend is trying to save this God-forsaken city. And I have my own reasons for wanting to help.” Tommy’s stance was defiant, but his voice was slightly hesitant. “You’re not a killer anymore. So what are you, Oliver? I want to know.”

It was all too much. The pressure from his mother. His worries about Thea and the boyfriend that Oliver still hadn’t met. The guilt over letting Diggle down in the hunt for Deadshot. All the questions about just what Felicity was to him. The insecurity about his writing and wondering what would happen if Ex Astris went under. His failure to find out just who the blonde vigilante was. And now Tommy’s challenge. 

His carefully separate worlds were colliding. They were getting merged, forcing him to muddy the Hood’s careful boundaries with Oliver Queen’s messy emotions. And so far, he’d had no luck using the logic and precision he exercised as the Hood into his life as Oliver. But if he didn’t get this under control, he’d lose it all. He could already sense things slipping between his fingers--things he had found a way to accept losing, like his mother’s respect, even if it was incredibly painful. But what if he lost an actual person? 

A firm hand on his shoulder yanked him out of his head, making him blink at Diggle.

“A buddy of mine in Afghanistan, he really liked that show _Firefly_. Was crazy about it--made everyone in the unit watch it.” 

If Tommy’s expression was anything to judge by, both of them were giving Diggle ‘what the fuck?’ looks right now. Digg grinned before growing serious again. “There was a line that stuck with me. Something I always felt but didn’t have the words to express, at least not in a PG-for-civilians way. ‘When you can’t run, you crawl. And if you can’t crawl, you find someone to carry you’.”

Oliver took a deep breath. He knew what Digg was saying. But it was so damn hard. It was one thing with Digg--at least Oliver knew he could take care of himself, had proven that he had the skills to temporarily step in if Oliver went down. But Tommy couldn’t do that. He needed to be protected. And if Tommy got hurt or injured helping him . . . 

“Lucky for you guys, I’m damn good at crawling,” Tommy quipped. 

Digg let out a soft chuckle. “And even though our boy here is solid muscle, I’ve carried him a time or two.” He turned his eyes on Oliver. “So what do you say? Gonna give me a break and let Tommy deal with you?” 

The gentle needling wasn’t what he expected. Oliver looked back and forth between the two of them: the partner and the friend, two completely unlikely individuals united in their desire to help him. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand why they were standing by him, why they wanted to help him. There were lots of ways to make Starling City better--why did they think him shooting arrows into bad guys was the right way? 

He wasn’t sure. But . . . but he knew he couldn’t do this without them. Both of them. 

So all he could do was step forward and hold his hand out to Tommy. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

Tommy took his hand, shaking it slowly. “I’m sure.” 

His grip was firm and steady. There wasn’t any doubt there. And . . . and it was good. 

Clearing his throat a little, Oliver nodded. “Then welcome to the team.”

“Thanks. Don’t think this means the Felicity discussion is over, though, Ollie,” Tommy said, letting go of his hand to mock-punch him in the shoulder. 

“I’m going to regret this,” Oliver said, putting a grin on and making his words into a joke. 

But he hoped he wouldn’t.

XXX 

Publishers Weekly, December 20, 2013  
 **Martha Ellis Fired; Takes Half of Ex Astris’s Staff With Her to HarperCollins**  
 _Fate of Ex Astris Undetermined_

Wall Street Journal, December 20, 2013  
 **Prolonged Search for New CEO Scares Investors Away from Queen Consolidated**

Starling City Tattler, December 21, 2013  
 **Two Santas and a Ms. Claus**

Thea Queen smiles as she helps her brother Oliver and his best friend Tommy Merlyn at the revived Starling City Children’s Christmas Gift Market. The event allowed children from all over the city, across economic lines, to shop for Christmas presents at no charge. The event was underwritten by Merlyn Global.

XXX 

Okay, she couldn’t keep doing this for much longer. Not just because it was pretty chilly out here right now and this casserole dish was heavy with all the healing powers of Jewish comfort food, but because even in the Glades, a woman pacing and talking to herself was bound to attract attention. And attention in the Glades wasn’t often the positive, life-affirming kind. 

Even with the Hood around, it was usually the ‘you in danger, girl’ kind of attention. 

And since it was broad daylight, the Hood was probably not around. 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity told herself to stop shilly-shallying and ring Sara’s bell. Using her knee to hold up the casserole dish, she pressed the button firmly and emphatically.

It took a few moments before Felicity heard anything, and then there was the metallic grinding of locks turning before Sara pulled open the security door. “Felicity. I didn’t know you were coming over . . .”

“I know--I probably should have called, but I thought with the recently-dislocated shoulder and the bruised ribs, you’d be home.” She eyed Sara, feeling relieved at seeing her in yoga pants and a t-shirt--her standard attire when she was in veg-out mode. “And it looks like I was right.”

_Way to be passive-aggressive, Smoak_ , she chided herself. But Felicity didn’t really care. Because how could Sara hide this from her? Was it because of their fight, which they still hadn’t really made up from? But even if they were fighting, she thought that Sara knew she could call Felicity if she was in trouble or needed help. And Sara was still her friend enough to drag Felicity out of her apartment to get some fresh air, even if she had unknowingly taken her to a gunfight. 

“Um, potato kugel?” Felicity asked, holding up the casserole dish and trying to end the awkward silence. “My bubbe’s recipe. The only recipe I have of hers, since she was my dad’s mother and . . . well, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with her.” 

Sara opened her mouth, probably to protest, but then she sighed a little and stepped back. “Come on up.” 

“Great!” Felicity said, following Sara from the security door and into her apartment building. They climbed the two flights of stairs, Sara still moving gracefully if a bit slowly while Felicity tried not to wheeze. 

Once they were in Sara’s apartment, Felicity set the casserole down on the kitchen counter and turned to face her friend. Sara definitely looked tired--but it was more than a physical exhaustion, Felicity thought. She looked like she was worn down to a nubbin. 

“Thanks, Felicity,” Sara said, not moving far from the door. “It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too. But I am not leaving. Not until we deal with our fight and you tell me what’s going on with you,” Felicity said, taking a step towards Sara. “I’m worried about you, and I realize it’s not really fair for me to say that, with how I shut you down when you said the same thing to me, but--but I’m so sorry.” 

It was easy to see that Sara was nervous: she didn’t make eye contact with Felicity as she rubbed the toe of her sneaker against the floor. “It’s okay. Thanks for stopping by.” 

“Sara, I’m not leaving until we work this out,” Felicity said, standing her ground. “I’ve missed you, even with being buried under work. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

That made Sara look up, her eyes full of confusion. Felicity did her best to smile as she adjusted her glasses. “I don’t make potato kugel for just anyone.” 

Letting out a quiet laugh, Sara walked over and hugged her. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” 

“Yep, that’s me. Felicity Smoak: cute.” Felicity hugged Sara back tightly, but then suddenly loosened her arms. “Oh my God, your ribs! Are you okay?” 

Sara laughed again and pulled back. “I’m fine. I’ve had way worse.” 

Felicity pointed her finger at Sara. “See, that? Does not make me any less worried. So spill, Lance.” 

“You’re also bossy,” Sara said, walking over to drop down on her super-comfortable, super-ugly couch. 

“I was ready to ask Laurel for help,” Felicity said, walking over to sit down. Kicking off her flats and tucking her feet underneath her, she quirked an eyebrow at Sara. “And she makes me look like the exact opposite of bossy.” 

“Thank God you didn’t get Laurel involved--I don’t know if I could deal with her, too,” Sara said, leaning back against the couch a bit gingerly. “Because you don’t have anything to worry about with me. I was working with a new instructor at Coal Mine and he doesn’t really know his own strength yet. He’s a friend of a friend, so I was trying him out, seeing if he could be a good teacher.”

Listening to Sara, Felicity tried to stay objective. The explanation was a likely one and Felicity supposed Sara’s injuries could have come from that. But something just seemed . . . off. 

“I hope you told him off for dislocating your shoulder,” Felicity said. “I would have--in between the whimpering.” 

“Oh, I did. I don’t suffer in silence,” Sara said with a grin. “Just ask my dad. He always said I had a cry that could break the sound barrier.” 

Laughing a little, Felicity grinned. “I’ll be sure to ask him that the next time I see Captain Lance.” She paused, feeling her smile fade as she gathered her thoughts. “We never really talked about what happened that day in Jitters.” 

“I’m telling you, Felicity, it’s nothing to do with Ollie--” 

“I believe you,” Felicity said quickly, not really wanting to talk about Oliver. Not wanting to get off the main subject, which was Sara and their friendship. “I shouldn’t have accused you of that--you’ve been nothing but a cheerleader for me and . . . and it’s nice. So I wanna return the favor. Be your cheerleader. Even though I’m pretty far from the cheerleader type.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Cute little blonde . . . I’d kill to see you in a pleated skirt with some pom-poms,” Sara said with a grin, a hint of a leer in her voice.

Even as she blushed, Felicity picked up one of the throw pillows and gently bopped Sara on top of her head. “Behave, please. I’m being serious.” 

“So you hit me with a pillow? Real serious there, Smoak,” Sara said, her chin dimple fully coming out to play. 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity dropped the pillow and sat up. “You’ve been a rock for me over the last three years. And I’ve needed that. More than you probably even realize. But--but I don’t want to take and never give in return. If you need help, I’m here--I’m always here, Sara.” Reaching out, she rested one of her hands on top of Sara’s. “You know that, right?” 

Sara met Felicity’s eyes. “I do know that,” she said sincerely. “Just knowing that you’re here helps a lot, Felicity.” She paused, her eyes looking away for a moment before she took a breath. “It’s hard for me to depend on other people. But . . . but I’ll try to get better.” 

“That’s all I’m asking,” Felicity said, squeezing her hand tightly. “Thank you.” 

Moving forward, Sara wrapped Felicity in a hug. “Thank _you_ , Felicity.” 

If she tried to talk, she’d burst into tears. So Felicity just hugged Sara back, feeling relieved and happy to have her friend again. 

“Your roots are showing.” 

And now the moment was over, apparently. Laughing, Felicity pulled back. “Thanks for reminding me. You want to help me cover up the brown? We could make a night of it: hair and nails, while eating kugel and chocolate and watching bad movies.” 

“I wish I could,” Sara said, standing up. “But I’ve got to get to the dojo.” 

“What?!? You’re working--in your condition?” Felicity squeaked, jumping to her feet. 

“I’ve got to work, Felicity. And I’m not doing anything physical,” Sara said, picking up her leather jacket, which now looked even more badass with a bullet-ripped sleeve. “I’m just correcting form and adjusting positions. I can do that no matter how my ribs feel.” 

She didn’t like this. Sara should be resting. But her friend was also stubborn--and she had a point. If you didn’t work, you didn’t get paid. Maybe she was being too overprotective. Sara seemed to have a good idea of what she was and wasn’t capable of. But that didn’t mean Felicity was going to let Sara exhaust herself.

“Okay, but when you’re done tonight, you call me and I’ll bring you home. You shouldn’t have to wait for a bus in the cold after that.” 

“You know, I will totally do that,” Sara said. “And we can get Big Belly and you can tell me what’s going on with you.” 

“Deal,” Felicity said with a big smile. 

XXX 

Although Oliver would be the first to admit that Tommy’s help was paying off, there was one big drawback. Tommy wasn’t afraid to play dirty. 

That was how, the night they installed the surveillance cameras to track the blonde vigilante, Oliver wound up being the one to relay to Diggle and Tommy whether the video feeds were transmitting to the computers in the Foundry. 

“You need to stay off that knee, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Thea you’re dying to take swing dancing classes and want her to go with you, but you’re too scared to ask her,” Tommy said. “And you can’t say no to Thea, just like she’d do anything for her big brother.” 

“I think you’re overestimating my influence over Thea,” Oliver said, frowning at Tommy. “And low blow, Merlyn.” 

Tommy just gave him one of those toothy, ‘trust me!’ smiles that he had been giving Oliver since they were preschoolers. Rolling his eyes, Oliver took a seat in the desk chair in front of the computers. “Fine.”

The fact that a cold rain was falling while Digg and Tommy did the install made him feel a little less annoyed about being in the somewhat-warm lair, at least. The rain would have turned his knee into a stiff pretzel . . . and the idea of Digg and Tommy dealing with the rain seemed a fair punishment for their meddling. Even though Tommy, the main ringleader, was sitting in the van, out of the elements. 

Tapping on his communicator, Oliver said, “Camera four needs to be turned about five degrees to the left--part of the alley is cut off.” 

After a few moments, the camera angle changed, giving a perfect view down the alley. “That’s good,” Oliver said. 

“Two more to go,” Digg said. “I’m moving to the building across the street and going radio silent.” 

“Afraid to let me hear you huffing and puffing, Digg?” Oliver asked in amusement. With the amount of equipment that had to be transported up multiple flights of stairs, even Digg’s physical capabilities were being taxed.

“Radio silent now.”

There was a small hiss as Digg’s communicator went silent, then Tommy chuckled. “Digg’s got the patience of a saint for putting up with you.” 

“He does,” Oliver said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his knee a little. “I never thought I’d be grateful to my mom for sticking me with a babysitter.” 

“Hey, Oliver?” 

Tommy’s voice had changed, gone a bit quieter. It made Oliver curious--because when Tommy sounded like that, usually it wasn’t good. “Yeah, Tommy?” 

“Um . . . I wanted to apologize. About Felicity.”

He sat up straight. “What do you have to apologize about?” 

“Easy there,” Tommy said. “Nothing like that. It’s because earlier today, I looked her up and saw what happened to her.” 

As always, the thought of the attack on Felicity made anger bubble inside him. Anger and . . . something else. Something dark and uncertain, something that made him wonder how things would be if her attacker had gone farther. Had gone too far. 

“Sometimes, I think about the guy who attacked her, sitting in Iron Heights, and I just . . .” Oliver let his voice trail off, knowing he was opening a can of worms. 

At least Tommy agreed with him. “I know. So now I get why you’re so protective of her.” 

Letting out his breath in a huff, Oliver nodded, even though Tommy couldn’t see it. “Yeah. She’s . . . she’s pretty inspirational, how she’s dealt with what happened to her, how she’s trying not to let it destroy her. But it definitely fucked up her life.” 

“Yeah?” 

God, he had really missed this. Just talking to his best friend. Even back in the days before the island, when he had kept up a mask to everyone, trying to live up to all the expectations, Tommy was someone that he could sometimes drop the facade with. And now . . . it felt like their friendship was even better than before. He certainly didn’t feel that same flight-or-fight response now when he got serious with Tommy. It could be the changes they had both gone through. Or maybe it was something about tonight, something that let him open up. 

“She was on the verge of a really successful career. And then she gets beaten up and left for dead in that alley--forty-five fucking minutes before anyone found her, Tommy--and she doesn’t write anything for five years, pretty much, and now . . . she’s broke. I know it, she knows I know it, but she’s so stubborn, she won’t even let me buy her coffee without paying me back the next day.” 

It was like a knot was untying in his chest, venting his frustration to Tommy. So he kept going with the most recent development. “And now that it looks like Ex Astris is going under, she’s gonna be in real trouble, but I know she won’t accept any money from me. And it fucking sucks.” 

“Man, Oliver. You’re really upset about this,” Tommy said, sounding surprised. “I mean, I thought you just had the hots for her . . .” 

Before he could help it, he said, “Yeah, well, it’d be easier if that’s all it was.” 

Tommy made a small noise of agreement but didn’t say anything more, leaving Oliver to his thoughts. He was glad for it: it gave him time to collect himself. Time to calm down, to remember that Felicity was just his friend. He’d feel this way if Tommy had been cheated out of his trust fund or if Digg got a bad break. 

She was just his friend.

“I just got a crazy idea.” 

Oliver sat up in his chair a little. “Crazier than renting out that stadium for strip kickball with SCU’s chapter of Kappa Delta?” 

“No, not that crazy, ‘cause I’m older and wiser now,” Tommy said, a grin in his voice. “But still, kinda crazy. We should buy your publisher.” 

“What?”

“We buy Ex Astris. Kinda like how you bought the _Tattler_ \--don’t think I didn’t see how you used one of your mom’s companies to do that--by using one of Merlyn Global’s subsidiaries as the purchaser. That way, it gets a nice big cash infusion, Felicity and you can keep publishing, and you get to be her knight in shining armor.”

It was a crazy idea. Because it’d be easy to trace the purchase back to them, because once the news got out there’d be a ton of press about conflict of interest, and because . . . it was perfect. It was the perfect solution, except for one small detail. 

“Putting aside how crazy this is, what makes you think I should tell her?” 

Tommy scoffed. “You have done so much more to impress girls you barely knew. And . . . c’mon, Oliver. You want to tell her, you just think you shouldn’t.” 

“Because I shouldn’t,” Oliver said. “You don’t know Felicity--she would be pissed as hell.” 

“Are you sure? Maybe you need a second opinion, someone who doesn’t know the delightful Miss Smoak as well as you do . . . ” Tommy said. 

“No,” Oliver said immediately.

Yet again, Tommy scoffed. “Not like that. Not that you’ve called dibs or anything,” he said, referring to their long-standing tradition. “But no, I’m just curious about her. Besides, you never know when Hood-related business might get in the way of one of your little coffee dates, and if Felicity gets to know me a little, I could explain things without giving anything away.”

Damn it. Tommy was actually making sense. He really hated when that happened. Especially when it came too close to reminding him of who he used to be. But . . . the idea did have merit. And maybe it would deal with Tommy’s curiosity, too. 

“Okay,” Oliver said, blowing out a breath. “You think you could pull yourself out of bed around nine tomorrow and come to Jitters?” 

“I can be there. Not awake, but that’s where the coffee will come in,” Tommy said cheerfully. “So let’s talk more about buying a publisher.” 

The crackle of static alerted them that Digg had turned his earpiece back on. “But I guess that will wait until later,” Tommy muttered before speaking to Digg to direct him where to place the new cameras.

That let Oliver try and decide which decision would blow up in his face more: buying Ex Astris . . . or letting Tommy spend time with Felicity. 

His cell phone ringing, with the ring tone that Felicity had set for her calls, made Oliver smile. He muted his communicator as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Oliver?” 

The panic in Felicity’s voice immediately made him come to attention. “Felicity, what’s wrong?” 

He could hear her take a deep breath, as if she was calming herself down. “It’s not a big problem, I just--I need--” 

“Anything--whatever you need,” he said immediately, already on his feet and shifting his weight back and forth, ready to leave as soon as he knew why she was calling him. And the only reason he wasn’t already in his car was because of Digg and Tommy.

“Could you--is there any way you could come and give me a ride to Sara’s dojo? I promised I’d pick her up after her classes, but my car won’t start and--” 

For just a moment, he let himself close his eyes and feel relieved that it was as simple as needing a ride. That she wasn’t in danger, that she wasn’t having a panic attack. And then the thought occurred to him that she had called him for help. She trusted him. 

_Not now_ , he thought, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. “Where are you?” 

“Are you sure? It’s not a pain? Oh, thank you, Oliver. You’re a lifesaver--I’m too late to meet Sara if I took the bus and the whole point of this was so she wouldn’t have to take the bus after classes, with being tired and injured--oh, I need to tell you where I live.” 

“That would help,” he said, wishing that his words had come out friendly, even flirty, instead of low and focused. But his mind was creating this image of Felicity, standing outside in the rain with a broken umbrella next to her non-working car: a wet dream for a mugger or someone worse . . . 

Felicity let out a small noise, one that he couldn’t identify, before she gave him her address and got off the phone. He grimaced a little, worried that she thought he was mad at her or that she regretted calling him in the first place. Tapping his communicator, he said quickly, “I’ve got to go. Nothing Hood-related, it’s personal. Are you guys okay?” 

“Yeah, we’re nearly done,” Digg said. 

“Good,” Oliver said, yanking the communicator out and heading for the stairs.

XXX

Not that she didn’t enjoy seeing Oliver for any reason, but the sight of him pulling into her parking lot in a sleek towncar nearly made her jump and down from joy.

Although that could be about getting the blood back into her feet so they’d warm up. 

He gave her a tight, anxious smile through the passenger-side window as he drew up beside her. She barely waited for him to stop before yanking the door open and throwing herself inside. A wall of heat hit her and she let out a soft moan. “Oh, that feels so good.” 

She thought he did a double take, his lips pressing together, before he reached out and lifted both her hands up to the vents. “I thought you might be cold,” he said, his voice deep. 

“I’m freezing--oh my God, my butt is warm. Heated seats?” she asked, looking at him and smiling. 

Nodding slowly, Oliver gestured towards the console between them. “Feel free to adjust anything. You said you were picking up Sara?” 

“Yes--thank you, really, Oliver. I swear, this isn’t going to become a thing, my car is normally really reliable.” She rested a hand lightly on his forearm. “I appreciate you coming out tonight to help me.” 

“Felicity--” He stopped and turned his head to look through the windshield. She frowned a little, wondering what was going on with him, as he gave a small shake to his head before looking back at her. 

“You called me, sounding scared, and said you needed my help. What else did you think I was going to do?” 

Was it possible to feel the earth tilt on its axis? Because Felicity was pretty sure it just did. Because . . . this didn’t sound as simple as calling someone for a ride. He made it sound monumental. Like if she asked him for something, even if he couldn’t provide it, he’d still find a way. 

This went way beyond friendship. 

His jaw worked and she could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Where--where are we going?” 

Even a MIT-educated genius would say “Huh?” at such a seeming non-sequitur. And maybe it was because her brain was busy rebooting after locking up. Oliver cleared his throat and repeated the question, and she realized he didn’t know where to drive them. 

In a quiet voice, she told him the address of the dojo and he nodded before his hands moved on the wheel, pulling away from her car. Felicity turned her head, looking out the window as she tried not to panic. Panic in the way normal people meant, when they were dealing with something big and unexpected and not the memory of a horrific beating. Because she was freaking out about this. 

It was one thing to like Oliver. To be friends with him. To know that he liked her, too. But being more than that? In spite of what Sara might say, it wasn’t that easy. They had such different backgrounds--there was still so much she didn’t know about him, so much she hadn’t told him.

This was the wrong time to be thinking about this. Not with Oliver close enough to touch . . . 

Slowly, she turned her head a little, enough to see him out of the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t read him. He had put his mask back up, the bland expression that held everyone at arm’s length. And that _hurt_. It hurt that he was hiding himself away like this. 

God, how had they even gotten here? How had a simple request for a lift changed _everything_?

Oliver eased up to the curb in front of the Coal Mine Dojo, slowly parallel parking with a graceful competence. He turned off the car, making her look at him. “What . . .?” 

“I’m coming in with you.” His voice brooked no disagreement. There was a hardness to him, something she had never seen before. Something that made her suddenly understand how he had survived on that island for five years. 

“Okay,” she said quietly, pulling her coat around herself and stepping out of the car. She kept her arms wrapped around her body, sensing Oliver fall into step beside her as they walked into the dojo. 

The class had just broken up, it appeared: students were unwrapping their hands or pulling on sweatpants and coats, while Sara was chatting with her fellow instructor at the far end of the room. Felicity slipped off her heels and glanced at Oliver. She did her best to smile and act normally. “No heels on the mats.” 

He nodded, his lips quirking just a little. “It’s a good rule.” 

“I--I’m just going to go. Tell Sara that we’re here. I’ll be back,” she said, feeling tongue-tied like never before around Oliver. She turned quickly and padded across the mats, nodding and smiling at a woman she recognized from her self-defense classes. When her eyes returned to Sara, her whole body went cold as she realized her friend was in a chokehold. 

“Sara!” she said, dashing over. “What are you doing?!? Your ribs!” 

“I’m fine, Felicity,” Sara said, grinning at her a little even as she pulled on the arm around her neck. Throwing an elbow back into the midsection of the instructor, Sara pushed the arm away and escaped the hold.

“You’re never gonna get better if you don’t take care of yourself,” Felicity said, stepping forward and taking Sara’s arm. “C’mon, we’ll go back to my place and order some pizza.” 

“What happened to Big Belly?” Sara asked curiously. Her eyes flicked around the dojo, then whipped back to Felicity. “And why is Ollie here?” 

Felicity frowned at the note in Sara’s voice--a strange sort of tension that she didn’t understand. “My car wouldn’t start--I asked Oliver to give me a ride. Is . . . is that not okay?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Sara said, shifting her weight a little. “I was just surprised. Let’s go.” 

Sara started walking away, leaving Felicity to stare after her. What was going on? It wasn’t her imagination--something definitely seemed off with Sara as soon as she realized Oliver was here. And--and Oliver was staring at Sara. 

She followed Sara, needing to get closer to them, to get a better look at the two of them. Oliver was looking at Sara as if he had just discovered something huge about her. But what was it? And Sara seemed . . . nervous. 

What the hell was going on?

End, Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing--and not just between Oliver and Felicity. This chapter ends up addressing some questions that readers have raised in comments, so I hope you enjoy seeing the answers I’m presenting.

If he gripped the steering wheel any harder, Oliver was pretty sure it would crumble under his hands. But what could he do? Sara was the blonde vigilante. And he was finally figuring this out while Felicity was present. 

Talk about crappy timing. But then, did he have any other kind? 

Oliver eyed Sara in the rear view mirror as he drove back to Felicity’s apartment, with Felicity chattering away, Sara occasionally responding. Felicity glanced over at him a few times, a confused look on her face. Like the look she had worn in the dojo, when he had been looking at Sara with narrowed eyes as he tried to process his dawning realization. 

But how could he not give away what he was thinking, when it was all so surprising? The idea that Sara was the female vigilante was a shock. Because that meant Sara was the one beating up rapists, muggers and other criminals, putting her life on the line--and getting injured in the process. He’d noticed how she was favoring her ribs at the dojo. When they had fought, the night he had encountered her, he must have done that. 

He’d unknowingly hurt an old friend. And he suspected he was going to have to hurt her more in order to get her to stop this. 

Because it would have to end tonight. 

When he pulled to a stop in front of Felicity’s apartment building, she turned to look at him. “Oliver, Sara and I were going to get some pizza . . . do you want to join us?” Felicity asked, her voice a bit hesitant.

Before he could make his excuses, Sara spoke up. “Actually, Felicity, I think I’m gonna have to pass. I’m more tired than I thought.” 

Felicity turned around in her seat, her ponytail falling over her shoulder as she looked back at Sara. For some reason, Oliver found himself distracted by the fall of her hair, gazing at the shiny blonde strands. Wondering what her hair would feel like between his fingers. 

_Later_ , he told himself, shoving aside the still-unresolved feelings that Felicity’s simple request for a ride had churned up within him. One crushing epiphany at a time. 

“I can drive you home, Sara,” Oliver said, glancing back at her before looking at Felicity. Her forehead was wrinkled and her lips were pursed, but after one last look at Sara, she nodded. 

“If you’re sure, Sara . . .” Felicity smiled a little and reached back to touch Sara’s hand. “Call me later?” 

Sara nodded, pasting on a smile. “Absolutely. Thanks for the ride, Felicity.” 

“You should thank Oliver,” Felicity said, turning her head to smile at him. “See you tomorrow?” 

He nodded. “Definitely. I’ve missed having coffee with you.” 

Felicity’s cheeks went pink. “Me, too.” She looked at Sara quickly, then opened the car door and stepped out. 

As she walked away, Oliver saw her wrap her coat tightly around herself, her shoulders slightly rounded. He wasn’t sure what that meant, what emotions her body language was expressing, but he couldn’t look away from her until she got inside her apartment building. 

The slamming of the car door made him turn, to see Sara now sitting in the passenger seat. “Something’s changed with you two,” she said quietly. 

“We’re not talking about that,” he said firmly. “Because there’s something you have to tell me.” 

She took a deep breath. “Why? You already know.” 

“I know that you’re the blonde vigilante who’s been running around the Glades,” Oliver said, his voice hard. “But I don’t know why, or how you even started, or what the hell you were thinking.” 

“I was thinking that the Hood doesn’t have dibs on saving this city,” Sara said, glaring at him. “There have been people protecting this city before you, Ollie.” 

Oliver turned off the ignition and then leaned back, staring at her. “What do you mean?” 

Sara sighed. “When I was in high school, I was getting into trouble. My dad signed me up for boxing lessons and they helped me get a handle on myself. But more than anything, I learned what strength is for: to protect those who don’t have it. And Ted, my instructor? He felt the same way. So . . . we started working together. Trying to make a difference.” 

“If you were doing this in high school, that was before I even ended up on the island,” Oliver said, feeling confused. 

“We weren’t exactly drawing attention to ourselves,” Sara said, rubbing her hands against her knees. “Mostly we went after muggers, purse snatchers--nothing big. But I had a few too many close calls, times when my dad or Laurel noticed I was hurt. And then Ted . . . well, he decided to hang it up. So I did, too.” 

Nodding slowly, Oliver looked at her. It made sense, based on what he had seen of her fighting style, of her approach. Trained, but not anywhere close to the extent he had been. “What changed?” 

“Felicity.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. If this was her way of avoiding his questions, by trying to distract him . . . “What changed?” he repeated.

Sara rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ollie. You know what I’m saying. There’s something about Felicity that makes you want to keep her safe. And the fact that some bastard hurt her . . .” 

His gut tightened, remembering how he had felt earlier tonight when he had talked to Tommy about Felicity’s attack, and when she phoned him. Sara reached out and rested a hand over his on the steering wheel. “I was working as a martial arts instructor when Laurel asked me to help Felicity out. And seeing how she was trying to recover, knowing how long it took for the SCPD to find her attacker--through no fault of my dad’s--I just . . . got to thinking.” 

“Thinking?” 

“Thinking about the people I could be helping. And when the Hood vanished last summer after everything that happened in the Glades, I decided it was time to put the mask back on,” Sara said, not looking away from him. “And I’m not taking it off just because you know now, Ollie.” 

“Sara . . .” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t let you do this.” 

She huffed out a breath. “It’s cute, Ollie, how you think you can stop me.” 

“I can.” 

He injected every bit of his soul’s darkness into his voice. Sara needed to know that if she wouldn’t stand down, he would make her. Because she didn’t have the skills to do this--and she didn’t have the instincts. Not the girl he had known for so many years. 

“You can, yeah,” Sara said, folding her arms over her chest. “But you’re not going to.” 

“Why, because of Felicity?” he snapped, glaring at her. “Because you’re protecting her?” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Because it was revealing too much. Giving Sara a way to undermine him. 

“That’s part of it,” Sara said quietly. “But it’s more. You need me, Ollie.” 

“Excuse me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There’s things going on in the Glades. Things you have no idea about. I bet you don’t know anything about Brother Blood, do you?” 

Oliver frowned, trying to hold back his confusion. “Brother Blood?” 

“Some whackjob in a creepy mask who’s snatching people off the streets. People that are easily missed: drug addicts, hookers, runaways, homeless. He’s got everyone scared, and you have no idea.” Sara’s voice was matter-of-fact; not judgemental, just pointing out something he didn’t know. Which made him grit his teeth. 

“Because I was busy chasing after a female vigilante,” Oliver said, glaring at her.

“Ollie, you can’t do this on your own--you need help,” Sara said, turning to face him. 

He started the car. “That’s the thing, Sara--I do have help. But it’s people I trust. And I don’t trust you.” 

Was he burning a bridge? Maybe. But that didn’t matter. Not next to Sara’s safety, not next to her life. 

Not next to Felicity’s well-being.

XXX 

The last chapter of _This or That_ was nearly done. Her novel could be completed in a week or two if she kept up her recent pace. With the bad news going around about Ex Astris, she really needed to have a strategy session with Laurel about what they were going to do. She owed a phone call to her mother. There were bills to pay, a few speaker invitations for her to accept or decline, and her apartment certainly could use some cleaning. 

Yet her mind couldn’t seem to stop focusing on the weirdness between Sara and Oliver. 

Sighing, Felicity flopped down on her couch. She had tried to do some of the work that was piling up, but she kept getting distracted. Because there had been such a strange vibe between two of the most important people in her life. 

And the fact that Oliver had achieved that status, and what had happened in his car before they picked up Sara, was definitely something that was keeping her off-balance, too. 

It was just so frustrating, having all these questions with no way to get the answers. At least, no way that didn’t involve a lot of risk. And even with the answers, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to grasp what was going on. It was like some kind of mystery, and nothing annoyed her more than a mystery. She had grown up reading Nancy Drew mysteries, and every time she had opened one of those yellow-spined books, she had vowed she would figure out the culprit before Nancy did. And on those rare occasions that she didn’t, she had to immediately re-read the book, to see what clues she had missed. 

But mysteries in books had to make sense. Real life was full of red herrings and clues that weren’t really clues, facts that might seem significant but weren’t in the end. But just because it was hard didn’t mean she should just give up on this. Not when Sara’s health was at risk--not when something seemed to be going on between her and Oliver. 

Nothing romantic, thank goodness. She was pretty sure about that. And now was not the time to think about why she was so grateful for the strange vibes not being romantic, Felicity told herself. No, she had to stay focused on figuring out what was going on with Sara, and why Oliver suddenly seemed so interested in her. 

But how to get started on unravelling this mystery? Talking to Sara hadn’t helped, not with how her friend had come up with a reason for her injuries that made sense at the time. But the more Felicity thought about it, the less Sara’s justification held water. She was still tempted to ask Sara’s family for help, but Felicity doubted that Laurel or Captain Lance would know more than she did. 

So that left only one option. 

Felicity looked over at her laptop, sitting on the kitchen table. She pressed her lips together, admitting to herself that there were other options--but none as fast as taking advantage of her computer skills to do a bit of illegal research. Really, it came down to whether the risks were worth the reward. Would knowing how Sara was getting injured worth the blow to their friendship if Sara found out? Would hacking traffic cameras and law enforcement servers to get the information she needed matter if she got caught in the end? Could she even hack anymore, given how rusty her skills were? 

And would this answer why Oliver had stared at Sara tonight, like he was seeing her for the first time and wasn’t sure he liked what he saw? Especially when there were bigger questions in her mind when it came to him.

_“You called me, sounding scared, and said you needed my help. What else did you think I was going to do?”_

Just the memory of his words made her stomach flutter. Add in the way he had looked at her, his blue eyes alight with some inner fire she had never seen before, and his voice low and deep, and she was back in the car, feeling the same tingle all over her skin at the tension that crackled between them. 

It had been the most electric moment she had ever experienced. And the most confusing. Because she still didn’t really know who Oliver was to her--or who she was to him--and it was becoming clear that the mystery of their relationship would have to be dealt with. Soon. Or else she would just lose control of herself the next time one of those moments happened and--

Taking a deep breath, Felicity got up from the sofa and went over to her computer. The important thing right now was Sara: discovering how she was getting hurt and figuring out why she had lied to her. Yes, it was possible that it could have been a new, careless instructor at the dojo. But the more Felicity thought about that, the less likely it seemed. And if Sara was lying to her, Felicity wanted to know why. Because it meant her friend was in danger. 

If Sara was in danger, she might not ask Felicity for help. But that didn’t mean she had to suffer all on her own. And if it meant violating her friend’s privacy, Felicity would just have to live with the guilt. And hope that someday, Sara might forgive her. 

Her fingers were poised over the keys, but she hesitated. This could lose her Sara. She could lose her best friend if she did this. Would the fact that Felicity was only doing this because she was worried be enough for Sara? Would Sara understand that only the fact that she was so important made Felicity be willing to face such a bleak future? 

And what if she discovered something she didn’t want to know? Something that changed her opinion of Sara? 

No--no, that didn’t matter. Sara was her friend, no matter what. _Nothing_ could change that, and regardless of whatever situation Sara had gotten herself into, Felicity would stand by her. Just like Sara had done for her so many times before. As recently as last week, when she had used her own body to shield Felicity from gunfire. 

That memory, more than anything else, made Felicity get to work. 

She started slowly with just a basic Internet search before expanding into a few databases that were relatively accessible to the public; Felicity just bypassed the payment requirements to get in and run the searches. There wasn’t that much available: a few articles talking about Sara’s work at the dojo, photos of her from her party girl days, and a reference to Sara in the legal filing of her parents’ divorce, indicating that Captain Lance had custody of the minor Lance daughter.

Felicity already knew all that: when the Lances broke up, Mrs. Lance had moved to Central City for a job. Laurel was attending SCU and Sara, at seventeen, had chosen to stay with her father and Laurel. But the divorce and custody proceedings hadn’t been acrimonious, and it was nearly ten years ago, so Felicity knew it didn’t have anything to do with Sara’s recent behavior. At least, it wasn’t likely. 

So now it was time to go deeper. And as she began testing out the defenses of the SCPD’s firewall, Felicity just hoped she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew. Because she didn’t think if she called Oliver needing a lawyer that he’d be so quick to help as he was earlier tonight. 

_“You called me, sounding scared, and said you needed my help. What else did you think I was going to do?”_

XXX

“Ollie, I won’t let you stop me.” 

“How are you gonna stop me, Sara? Look at you! You’re nursing sore ribs and a shoulder that’s clearly been injured recently--I can tell.” Oliver glanced at her as he drove her to her apartment in the Glades. “How can you fight when you’re hurt like that?”

“And you’re saying you’re indestructable? Or did you think I’d miss how you’re favoring your right knee?” Sara’s voice was raised yet controlled. But the small smirk on her face was hard to miss. 

Turning the wheel very carefully in order not to jerk it, Oliver worked to keep his temper. But it was hard. This was a side of Sara he’d never seen before: angry, passionate, determined. Well, no, he had seen her passionate before, but never in this kind of context. And having her meet his arguments and refuse to back down wasn’t what he expected. 

“You know I can fight, Oliver,” Sara said, emphasizing his name slightly and not using his nickname for the first time tonight. He supposed she thought it would make this more professional, perhaps. “And I’ve got connections in the Glades that could help you. Ted taught me how to keep my ear to the ground, and ever since the Hood stopped going after one percenters, you could use someone giving you intel like that.” 

“Like about this Brother Blood?” Oliver asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah. He’s bad news and he needs to be stopped. The police could care less, you know that. But I care. And I know you do, too.” 

Her hand--so small and way too soft for a vigilante’s--reached out and touched his again. “You care so much about this city. You’ve got a team--why not add another member to it?” 

It was a good question. Through this whole argument, his brain had been trying to point out that Sara was right. Having more help, especially in the field, would be good. And if Sara was right about what was going on in the Glades, it could give him direction. A purpose. Going beyond stopping random crimes and actually attacking the bosses that were controlling the big criminal rackets. 

But . . . but he just couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let Sara in like that. Yes, she was an old friend. Yes, she could mostly hold her own in a fight. But that didn’t mean he wanted this kind of life for her. After everything he had done, he deserved to live with the darkness, with the danger. But Sara didn’t have to do that. And he couldn’t understand why she wanted this kind of life. 

_Maybe it’s not up to you to understand_ , a voice in his head said. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Felicity. _Maybe you just need to be accept that it’s her choice._

Taking a deep breath, he looked over at her. Her chin dimple had come out and her gaze was focused on him. She wasn’t backing down. And he didn’t want to make Sara into his enemy. Not really. 

But that didn’t mean he was going to bring her on board right away.

“I don’t like this,” Oliver said as he parallel-parked on the street in front of her apartment. “And I don’t approve. But you’re right. I can’t stop you.” 

Sara’s face lit up, reminding him of the girl he used to know, the girl who was always good for shots and sex. And once upon a time, he had taken full advantage of that, but now . . . now he wanted something else. 

Someone else. 

“So how do you want to do this?” Sara asked, schooling her expression into something more serious. 

“For now . . . we’ll just keep going like we have been,” Oliver said. “It’s better that there isn’t a connection between the Hood and--what have you been calling yourself?” 

“Nothing, since I’m not like you in the whole ‘talking about myself in the third person’ thing,” Sara said, smirking for a moment. “But . . . I was thinking of Canary.” 

She said it like the name had some kind of significance for her, but he didn’t know what it was. Although it made that sonic device of hers make more sense. “I don’t want our other identities to be linked, if you’re going to be my ears in the Glades.” 

“Good thing we’re already friends, then--it’ll let me pass information to you. Although don’t you think it might cause some gossip if Oliver Queen’s seen hanging out with a different blonde, especially one he’s got a history with?” Sara gave him a long look. “And I don’t want to hurt Felicity.” 

“Neither do I,” he said shortly, glancing at her before gesturing towards her building. “It’s getting late. You should probably go ice your ribs and shoulder.” 

Oliver could feel Sara’s eyes on him. “You realize that Felicity really cares about you, right?” 

“I care about her. We’re friends, after all. We write together,” Oliver said, hoping he didn’t sound too blasé or defensive. “That’s it, Sara.” 

The snort she let out was full-bodied. “That’s not it. Have you even talked to anyone about her? Tommy? Thea?” 

“Why is everyone so concerned about my love life?” Oliver said, turning his head to look at Sara, feeling a spike of anger. “Why does it _matter_ so much to _everyone_? If you knew what I’ve done--”

Before he could go too far, he bit back the words that were trying to get out. All the words that explained how he didn’t deserve what he had. He hadn’t made nearly enough amends to merit all he had gotten: his return home, a mission that gave him purpose, a new career, friends, his family . . . Felicity. 

He didn’t deserve any of it. 

Sara weathered his outburst, her face neutral. Then she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything more about Brother Blood. And yes, I’ll ice my ribs and shoulder.” She gave him a small smile and got out of the car, but paused, holding the door open. Then she leaned down and looked at him. “And we’re concerned about you because there’s a lot of people who want you to be happy. And for my money, you’re happy when you’re with Felicity. And if you’re happy with her when you’re just friends, then maybe . . . ” 

Her eyes held his for a long moment, communicating more than words could express. Oliver felt like he had been punched in the gut. She nodded her head and closed the car door with a quiet thud before heading in towards her apartment. 

Oliver watched her go, trying to sort through what had just happened. He was pretty sure that Sara had just given him the message that he should go for it with Felicity. Which was just . . . crazy. He shouldn’t think about her like that--he couldn’t. All he could offer her was his friendship--to want more was just his typical Ollie selfishness making an unwelcome appearance. 

Wasn’t it?

XXX

If eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves, as the saying went, what do snoops discover about themselves? 

Felicity didn’t know, but she certainly hadn’t thought she’d discover that her newest friend was now in the newspaper business. Or that her best friend apparently fought crime at night while wearing a mask. 

Leaning back in her chair, she ran her hands through her hair and then reached under her glasses to rub her eyes. It was well past midnight and she was only now starting to get a picture of just what Sara had been up to. Felicity had worked her way into the local traffic camera network and, thanks to some software she found online and tweaked, she was able to catch sight of a woman in a black leather costume and a mask, leaving the Coal Mine Dojo on three different nights in the last week alone. Nights when Sara didn’t teach, but had been caught by the cameras entering the dojo anyway in her normal clothes. 

The software, now that it knew what to look for, was going through several months’ worth of footage, looking for all appearances of this female vigilante. A woman that Felicity knew was Sara. But even though she knew it was her best friend, she didn’t understand why. 

Of all the possible explanations for Sara’s injuries and secrecy, being one of those costumed vigilantes wasn’t on the list. Which showed what kind of genius she was, because it seemed like a new one of those crimefighters popped up every other week here in Starling City. But once she got past the shock . . . it made a strange kind of sense. 

Sara cared about people a lot. It was what made her a great instructor at the dojo and a great friend. And even more than just caring, her desire to protect women was like a fire burning inside her. From donating as much as she could to the Starling Women’s Shelter to offering any woman that needed one a hefty discount at the dojo, Sara put her money where her mouth was. And as a native of Starling, it was natural that Sara wanted to help her city. She certainly had the martial arts skills to be a vigilante.

But why a vigilante? Why hadn’t she done something like become a cop? After all, Sara would know better than most people how important the police were to preserving law and order. Oh, God--Captain Lance would be so scared and unhappy if he found out Sara was doing this!

Letting out a soft groan, Felicity got up and started pacing, feeling too anxious to stay still. There wasn’t much room to pace in her studio apartment, though, so after a few quick circles, Felicity made herself stop. She had to think this through, not freak out. 

Sara was the blonde vigilante that had been popping up in the Glades over the last six months. From the injuries Sara had suffered and the video footage, Felicity certainly had enough proof to confirm it. She didn’t know why Sara was doing this, didn’t know why she had chosen such a path, but Felicity couldn’t deny the truth. 

So what would she do with this information? Confront Sara? Let Sara find out she knew by “accident”? Or say nothing? Tell Captain Lance and/or Laurel her suspicions? Or . . . Oliver?

With a sigh, Felicity lowered but didn’t fully close the lid of her laptop. It was late and her mind felt like a stretched-out rubber band. Not surprising, with all it had to hold. Like Oliver, strangely enough, having an idea of something being off about Sara, if his reactions were anything to go by. Perhaps he had simply just picked up on Sara being injured and he was worried about her. They were old friends, after all.

Yet thinking about Oliver made her remember the little fact she had uncovered earlier tonight, as she had sorted through a bunch of society-page coverage of Sara over the years. It was a photo of Sara and Oliver from nine years ago, both of them with fresh faces but alcohol-glazed eyes, at a fundraiser sponsored by Oliver’s mother. Moira Dearden Queen: a woman who came from a similar although less-wealthy background as her husband, a woman whose family owned a sizable number of newspapers and magazines, under the umbrella of the Dearden Communication Group.

The company that had just recently bought the Starling City _Tattler_ , after making no new purchases for the last five years. 

_Oh, Oliver. You have no idea how to hide your tracks._

As she got ready for bed by double-checking the locks, turning off the lights, and then stepping into her bathroom to clean up, Felicity had to smile a little at how obvious it was. Did he really think it would take anyone long to figure out he had bought the _Tattler_? She supposed, given how much the tabloid had covered him over the years, most people would think that Oliver had reached his breaking point and bought the _Tattler_ in order to keep his name out of it. But then, how would you explain things like that exclusive interview Oliver had given about his book? Because that certainly wasn’t keeping your name out of the most gossipy paper in Starling City. 

Although . . . the _Tattler_ had totally dropped that story they had been planning, about Oliver’s disappearance and his life after his return to Starling. The story for which they had wanted to interview her for. 

Felicity froze, her toothbrush in one hand and her mouth hanging open enough to reveal the toothpaste smeared over her teeth and gums. Could he--was the point of buying the _Tattler_ not about keeping his name out of the paper, but _hers_?

Oh, that was ridiculous. There was no way Oliver had bought a newspaper just to prevent a reporter from asking her questions. It wasn’t that hard to say ‘no comment’ and eventually they would have left her alone. 

Or would they? The _Tattler_ was notorious for its persistence. During her brief brush with fame, right before her attack, the tabloid photographers had been the worst. Perhaps Oliver was just trying to--

Giving her head a shake, Felicity made herself finish brushing her teeth. It was very late and she would want to see what video the software had uncovered before meeting Oliver for coffee. And since it was their first coffee date in a while, she kind of wanted to make sure she looked nice. She’d definitely look tired, but she could make up for that with straightened hair, even though she still hadn’t touched up her roots . . . 

Was it too late to go to the drugstore and get hair dye? 

“Yes!” she said out loud, startling herself. “You are acting like a crazy person, Felicity,” she muttered as she padded over to her bed. Sliding under the covers, she set her glasses down on the nightstand and closed her eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, she worked to relax herself, to find some calm so she could fall asleep. 

But sleep was still a long time coming. 

XXX

Why the hell was he considering wearing a suit? He was getting coffee with Felicity and Tommy, not going for a job interview. 

Oliver turned in his closet and grabbed a pair of cargo pants and a henley. He pulled them on and impatiently checked his watch. After he dropped off Sara last night, he had gone to the Foundry and beat on the dummies for a few hours before driving around Starling. It had given him the time to work through the conversation with Sara, but it wasn’t until he had attempted to sleep that he realized he still hadn’t dealt with what had happened with Felicity. 

Sleep hadn’t really happened after that. 

If he wanted to get to Jitters before Felicity--and more importantly, before Tommy--he’d have to move. He finished tying his boots, slid his notebook into the back pocket of his cargos, and headed out. But when he reached the foyer of the house, he pulled up short when he saw Thea perched against the center console table, idly swinging one of her legs and chatting a little with Diggle, who was standing at attention in his bodyguard role. 

“Speedy? You’re not normally up this early.” 

Thea gave him a big, sunny smile. “Turning over a new leaf. Getting the jump on my New Year’s resolution to not sleep the day away, as I was just saying to Mr. Diggle. I thought you could give me a ride?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and he’s all ready to agree, but then--

“How did you know I was going to be anywhere near Verdant?” He folded his arms over his chest and saw Thea’s eyes widen for a moment. _Busted._

“Are you saying you wouldn’t give your baby sister a ride somewhere, even if it was out of your way?” Thea wheedled, hopping off the table to come closer to him. 

Huffing out a laugh, he dropped his arms to his sides. “You’re losing your touch, Thea.” 

She pouted a little. “I know--you’ve barely been around lately for me to keep my skills up. So okay, I knew you were going to Jitters to meet up with Felicity because Tommy told me and I thought this might be a good time for me to meet Felicity.” 

Over Thea’s head, Oliver glanced at Diggle, gauging his reaction to this. His face was blank, but he could see the amusement in Digg’s eyes. And honestly . . . Sara’s words from last night had been nagging at him. About how there are people that cared about him. Thea definitely was one of those people, and he never got to spend as much time as he’d like with her. There’s no way he can ever tell her about how he spent his nights . . . but perhaps the reasons to not tell her how he spent his days didn’t really apply anymore. 

Because after all, Thea already knew about Felicity, enough that she was pumping Tommy and Digg for info. Wouldn’t it be better if she could come to him with her questions, rather than getting second-hand, inaccurate information? And given how little he knew about his sister’s life right now, about that boyfriend of hers, this might be a way to get some leverage with Thea in order to set up a meeting with the mysterious Roy.

And how did it look to Felicity? He’d made it clear to her, however clumsily, that she was someone that mattered to him. Mattered like Thea mattered. So if she never got to meet Thea, or spent any time with Tommy, she might wonder about that. 

His fingers rubbed together as he tried to tamp down his nerves. “I suppose you could come along . . . you could smooth over anything Tommy says.” 

The smile that appeared on Thea’s face took him back to the days before the island, when a promise of ice cream and some time together, just the two of them, could put that look on her face. But then her eyes flicked over him and she sighed. “Seriously, Ollie, you’re wearing that? Cargos and an old henley? Not that you don’t make it look good, but you could at least make an effort.” 

Digg had a really hard time holding back his laughter, if the choked sound he made was anything to go by. Oliver arched an eyebrow at Digg and nodded to the door before looking back at Thea. “We’re going to be late if I change, and besides . . . it’s not a date, Thea.” 

“Sure it isn’t, Ollie,” Thea said, taking his arm. “So explain just how you and Felicity met.” 

Doing his best to hold back a sigh, because he knew Thea is going to spin this story into something it wasn’t, Oliver still started talking as he led Thea out to the car. “We did a book signing together, seven years ago.” 

Thea’s footsteps faltered just a bit. “Seven years--before the island, then?” 

He nodded and held the rear door of the car open for her. “Yeah. Back when I was promoting _Frat Boy Way_.” 

“I still don’t know how Tommy came up with that idea, let alone why you wrote it,” Thea said as she got settled and Oliver took his seat next to her. 

Shrugging while welcoming the change of subject, Oliver leaned back against the heated leather seat. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“Kinda your motto back then,” Thea said, giving him a somewhat affectionate look. “And I don’t know half of what you got up to.” 

“If you know anything you know too much,” Oliver said, nodding to Digg to head towards the Glades. 

“Sorry, Ollie,” Thea said, gently nudging him. “Once I learned to read, it was hard to avoid finding out stuff about you.” 

With a shake of his head, he smiled at her. “It’s okay. Just . . . never fun to know that all your mistakes are just so . . . out there.” 

Thea reached over and took his hand, to his surprise. He wasn’t trying to get sympathy or seek comfort--but it was nice to have her small fingers squeezing his. “I’ve screwed up plenty in the last few years, and it sucks that you know about all of it. I feel like I’ve disappointed you. So I know what you mean.” 

He nodded. “Although your mistakes, Speedy, aren’t nearly as bad as mine.” 

Rolling her eyes, Thea let her head drop back against the seat. “Do you have to be Mr. Broody all the time? I thought you’d be cheerful again, since Tommy said this is the first time you’re having coffee with Felicity in a while.” 

Damn. So he hadn’t made her forget about Felicity. Hesitating for a moment, Oliver said, “Yeah--she was working on two different books at once, so she needed to be focused on that. But she’s nearly done, so . . . coffee.” 

“How did the coffee thing even get started? I mean, you’re not a caffeine junkie or anything,” Thea said, turning to face him. 

“I ran into her at Jitters, a few weeks after I came back. And eventually, it just . . . started. Us having coffee together,” Oliver said, trying to make it all sound casual. Like having coffee wasn’t something he had initiated because their random, unplanned encounters hadn’t been enough for him. 

“That’s so cute,” Thea said, grinning at him. “So you just sit and have coffee and talk?” 

Oliver rubbed his hand against his pants for a moment. “We also do some writing. Separately, of course, not together. And she explains stuff about the Internet to me.” 

“Which you desperately need,” Thea teased. “Oliver ‘What’s a Vine?’ Queen.”

“You know, I could have Digg just take you straight to Verdant, where you can drink the swill that Tommy sells as coffee,” Oliver said, trying to sound firm but knowing he was failing. The grin on his face didn’t help, either. 

“Too late,” Digg said as he pulled up in front of Jitters. “I’ll meet you and Miss Queen out here, Mr. Queen.” 

Oliver nodded as he waited for Thea to get out of the car. “Medium or large today?” he asked, since he usually got John a to-go coffee when he left Jitters. 

“Medium,” Digg said, before lowering his voice. “You sure about having Thea and Tommy meet Felicity?” 

“No, but I’m kind of hoping that things won’t be too awkward,” Oliver said. Digg didn’t look very excited about his plan, from the quick look Oliver got at his face as he got out of the car and followed Thea. 

Neither was Oliver, but it was too late now. And . . . and maybe this would all work out. Maybe it wouldn’t be weird that his little sister and his best friend were meeting Felicity today, the day after he had all but told her that he would do anything for her. 

Just thinking about it made his heart beat faster. Made him regret letting himself blurt out his reaction to Felicity’s gratitude, even if it had felt good. Even if being honest with Felicity about something important had made him feel breathless and hopeful and alive in a way he hadn’t felt as Oliver Queen in a long time. 

He was wrong. Today was going to be really, really awkward.

XXX

As she walked through the Glades, Felicity took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure how she was going to cope with spending time with Oliver, after what she had realized about Sara. Because she was pretty sure that Oliver had an inkling of _something_ going on with Sara. Maybe, with all his experiences on the island, he sensed that Sara was injured in some way. But it would be hard, not pumping Oliver for info on Sara. Especially since there was the second elephant in the room: what he had said to her about helping her, no matter what.

What would be worse: revealing to Oliver her suspicions about Sara being the female vigilante or asking Oliver just what he had meant? 

_Duh, the second one, Felicity._

Shaking her head at her thoughts, Felicity pulled open the door of Jitters and stepped inside. Looking over at their regular table, she felt a smile bloom on her face as she saw Oliver sitting there, his head down as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. Hiking her bag higher on her shoulder, she walked over to him. 

Just before she reached the table, he looked up, and something about his expression made her stop dead in her tracks. Because for just a moment, it was like she was seeing him for the first time--seeing into his soul in a way she had never been allowed before. 

And then the shutters fell and he was leaning back and smiling at her, and while it wasn’t the smile she now thought of as his normal smile, at least it wasn’t those bland fake smiles he used to lay on her when he first came back. “Hey.” 

“Hi, Oliver,” she said, sliding into the booth and dropping her laptop bag beside her. “I’m glad you don’t have your coffee yet--I feel like I should buy yours today, to thank you for last night.” 

He shifted a little, closing his notebook and tucking it away. “You don’t need to do that. Really, Felicity.”

“Still--” she started to say, only for a cup of coffee to suddenly appear in front of her. 

“Vanilla latte with extra sugar,” said the beautiful young woman with long brown hair who had plopped the cup down in front of Felicity. She handed a mug to Oliver and then sat down beside him with her own cup, fixing her blue-gray eyes on Felicity. “So you’re Felicity.” 

Felicity blinked, looking to Oliver. He smiled a little. “Felicity, this is my sister, Thea.” 

“Oh!” Her fingers fluttered to her glasses, and now she _really_ wished she had taken care of her roots last night, even though that would have meant caking on the concealer to hide her undereye circles. Because Thea Queen had the reputation of being a fashion plate and a beauty--and seeing her in person, the reputation was well-deserved and perhaps even a bit of an understatement. Because Thea was really, really gorgeous--and had the same kind of charisma as Oliver. 

“Um, yes, I’m Felicity. Hi. Wait, how did you know what kind of coffee I like to drink?” Felicity asked, looking back and forth between the two siblings. “Oh, Oliver told you, right? Of course he did. The chances of you just guessing that--” 

“Felicity,” Oliver said, sounding amused. But not in a mean way, more in an ‘I’m incredibly tickled by your existence’ kind of way. And that was not a tone she would have ever expected to hear in his voice. 

“Right,” she said, picking up her coffee and taking a quick sip. “Thank you, Thea.” 

Having Oliver spring his sister on her without warning like this . . . Felicity was not prepared for that. And it made her wonder. Did he bring Thea along so they couldn’t talk about what happened last night? Was he hiding behind his sister? 

_Oliver Queen, Massive Wimp_. That didn’t exactly fit with her image of him. And made her want to laugh hysterically. 

She took another sip of coffee and tried to adjust to this surprise. “It’s so nice to meet you, Thea. Oliver’s so proud of you.” 

It was the truth on both counts. Because Oliver’s love for his sister shines through whenever he talked about Thea: she might be the only person in his life about whom Oliver doesn’t seem to have conflicted feelings. And so Felicity’s been curious about the dichotomy of the girl the tabloids has described as a party girl and budding fashionista/club mogul, compared to Oliver’s stories about ‘Speedy’ and the pranks she pulled on him when they were younger. 

Thea’s eyes go warm and she looked at Oliver for a moment, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled at his sister, and it made Felicity’s heart go a little bit gooey to see Oliver like this. All warm and happy and protective of his sister. Then Thea turned back to Felicity. “It’s really great to finally meet you, too. With how Oliver was keeping you all to himself, I wondered what was going on, but I think I’m getting it now.” 

Oliver cleared his throat. “Speedy,” he said, a gentle warning in his voice, but Thea just elbowed him and smiled at Felicity.

“So I have an idea about this, but just how embarrassing is Ollie when it comes to technology?”

Felicity laughed, feeling grateful to Thea for breezing past her strangely cryptic statement and moving the conversation to something more comfortable. At least, more comfortable for her. Oliver looked like he’s in the middle of his worst nightmare. At least, it was the worst nightmare for a normal guy, having his sister and another woman teasing him. For Oliver . . . she’s pretty sure he’s got more nightmare fodder than most people.

“Awful,” she said with a grin, shooting Oliver a look over the rim of her mug. “So awful.” 

With a snicker, Thea leaned forward. “When he was twelve, he and Tommy figured out how to turn off the Internet filters so they could get porn. But it was this total accident, because Ollie dropped a can of soda on the keyboard and while cleaning it up, they found some secret code that disabled the filters.” 

“Oh, the poor computer,” Felicity said, pursing her lips. “Soda is the worst thing to spill on a keyboard.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about the keyboard,” Oliver said, half-sheepish, half-amused. “I was . . . distracted.” 

“I love that you’re worried about the computer, instead of going ‘ew, Oliver, porn’ from that story,” Thea commented.

Shrugging her shoulders, Felicity pushed her glasses up. “What twelve-year-old boy isn’t going to want to find online porn? I mean, it’s perfectly natural for guys to be interested in that. Not just guys, either--girls, too. I certainly took advantage of having Internet access and not a lot of supervision to do some research when I was that age, and nowadays--” 

At the same moment she realized what she’s saying, she sees Thea smirk while Oliver looks like he’s trying not to choke. Felicity’s face flooded with color and she pressed her lips together. “Can we please change the subject to something other than porn?” 

“Please don’t do that, I’m begging you.” 

It’s really hard not to let out a yelp as a voice broke into their conversation--a vaguely familiar voice. And then Tommy Merlyn sat down beside her, leaning a set of crutches against the table and giving her a charming smile. “I always want to be involved in any conversation about porn.” 

Oliver cleared his throat again--was he coming down with a cold or something?--and nodded at Tommy. “Felicity, you remember Tommy.” 

“Of course she does--she thought I was more handsome than you when we all met,” Tommy said, his eyes sparkling as he looked across the table at Oliver. 

“Oh, did she?” Thea said, looking back and forth between Tommy and Oliver and grinning widely. “Do tell, Felicity.” 

“It--it wasn’t--of course I didn’t--” Felicity spluttered, feeling her composure totally slip away with the addition of Tommy. What the hell was going on with Oliver that he needed his sister and his best friend to crash their coffee date? Was he that scared by the chance she would want to talk about what happened last night? 

And just why did she feel so disappointed to not have Oliver’s undivided attention? Even though yes, she was interested in meeting Thea, and getting reacquainted with Tommy, because they were important to Oliver--but not like this. Not today. Not when her head was already filled with so much worry and confusion, not when she was trapped in this booth without any way of getting out and Oliver was right across from her, smiling and trying to act relaxed when she could see the tension in him--tension that could only be from not wanting to be alone with her. 

She swallowed, looking down at the table. Her fingers twitched and she dropped her hands into her lap, where they could tremble out of sight. She couldn’t--she wouldn’t fall apart like this. They would all think she was a basket case. But the harder she scrambled for control, the quicker it felt like it was slipping away from her.

“Hey, ease up, guys,” Oliver said, his voice sounding a bit faint to Felicity. “Thea, why don’t you go get Tommy some coffee.” 

Dimly, Felicity heard Tommy and Thea banter about coffee, but she couldn’t follow their jokes. She could only keep looking down, tracing the smooth wood grain of the table’s surface with her eyes as she tried to breathe slowly. 

It could have been one minute or ten before she felt like she could look up. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized that Thea and Tommy had both disappeared and it was only Oliver in the booth. Oliver, sitting across from her and looking completely stricken. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, like he was the guiltiest person on earth. 

Licking her lips, she slowly lifted her eyes to his. And the guilt and worry that swirled in the depths of his eyes made her feel even more confused. She opened her mouth, then closed it, trying to figure out what to say. But then, the words came without any warning. 

“What the hell, Oliver?” 

He jerked back slightly. “Felicity?” 

Felicity leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about last night, about what you said--about how you looked when you said it--that’s fine. But be honest and tell me flat out,” she said fiercely. “Don’t use your sister or your friend as some kind of buffer. I don’t let my friends treat me like this--I won’t let anyone treat me like this, like I don’t deserve a measure of honesty and respect.” 

If it was possible, Oliver looked even more guilty--and now there was a hint of fear in his eyes, too. “Felicity, no--it’s not like that--” 

“Tell Thea thank you for the coffee,” Felicity said, snatching up her bag and stumbling out of the booth. If Oliver wanted, he could stop her, no matter how fast she moved. But she had to get away. Now.

And the thing was, Oliver didn’t want to stop her. Because he let her walk right out of Jitters. And because she did it without looking back, she could only assume he stayed right in their booth and watched her leave. 

End, Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hurt me for that ending. :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll totally own up that in order to make everything work in this chapter, I’m being wildly inaccurate about the timeline to publish a book. But since it was either be inaccurate about publishing or keep Oliver and Felicity at odds for many months . . . I chose to compress the typical pre-publication time. I think you’ll all approve of this, I think. :-) 
> 
> Seriously (Sinceriously?), I am blown away by the reaction to this story. The Arrow fandom has welcomed me with open arms and I am so thrilled that so many people are enjoying what I’m writing. So THANK YOU a million times, and I hope you continue to enjoy this fic!

Ever since the Queen’s Gambit sank, Oliver Queen had faced things that would make most people give up on life. Torture, heartbreak, betrayal: they were just the first of many situations that tried to break him, but he had endured--and survived. 

But watching Felicity Smoak walk away from him, after revealing just how disappointed and angry she was, hit him in a vulnerable spot deep inside himself. A place that was as soft and unprotected as he had been when he stepped onto the Gambit. A part of his soul that he didn’t know still existed. 

And it _hurt_. 

It hurt to have Felicity angry at him. It hurt knowing everything she said was the truth. And worst of all, it hurt that he let her go. That he didn’t run after her and stop her, tell her that he did respect her, he wanted to be honest with her and tell her everything, but not before he took her face in his hands and kissed her. 

Oliver felt his chest grow tight as he imagined it. Imagined kissing Felicity. 

How had he fucked up everything so fast? 

“Oliver.” 

Coming out of his head, he saw Tommy sitting across from him. He blinked. “Thea--where’s Thea?” 

“She said Digg was waiting for you, so I told her to have him take her to Verdant.” Tommy leaned forward. “What the hell happened? Felicity looked like she was freaking out, and then when we came back she was gone and _you_ were freaking out.”

Tommy’s voice was carefully controlled, but Oliver can hear the emotions he’s trying to hold back. Worry, first and foremost, but also a touch of anger, which doesn’t make sense at all. 

“I--” His voice cracks, like it hasn’t since he was twelve. When his biggest worry was his father finding out that he was looking for porn on the Internet. When he had no idea what his future would hold, no idea that one day he’d be sitting in a coffee shop feeling so incredibly broken. “I let her go.” 

“Felicity?” Tommy asked, then rolls his eyes a little as if to admit how dumb the question was. “Was she okay?” 

It killed him to say it, but Oliver’s only answer is, “I don’t know.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Oliver, talk to me!” Tommy demanded, his voice low. “What was going on with Felicity?” 

He ran his hands over his face, letting them rest on the back of his neck. “She gets--she gets panic attacks sometimes. I don’t know how often she has them, but the one time I saw her having one, she was triggered by--” Oliver stopped and swallowed. 

Quietly, Tommy finished his sentence. “By a memory of her attack.” 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, staying in the same position. “I don’t know what happened today, but I could tell she was panicking, so that’s why I told you and Thea to move away. But--but once she calmed down, she . . . she got angry with me.” 

“Why?” Tommy asked, his brow furrowed. 

Slowly, Oliver met his best friend’s gaze. “Because I sprung you and Thea on her without any warning. And she thought it was because I didn’t want to talk about what happened last night.” 

Tommy’s eyes became as big as saucers. “Fuck--did you sleep with her?” 

It’s such a normal question. A question Tommy has asked him--and that he’s asked Tommy--probably a hundred different times in their lives. So why did the question make him breathless and scared and wistful? He shook his head. “No.” 

“Then what the hell happened last night? You left the Foundry like a bat outta hell.” 

He let out a choked, bitter laugh. “She needed a ride. And when I showed up, she was so damn grateful, like I was doing so much for her, and I said--” He had to stop for a moment to get himself under control. “I told her that she called me, needing my help, so what else did she think I was going to do?” 

It took a moment, but when Tommy got it, he sat back in the booth, his mouth falling open. Then he frowned. “I don’t get it.” 

Maybe it was a ‘you had to be there’ moment. But he needed to explain this to someone. Needed some way to untangle this knot in his chest so he could fix things. 

“It was like . . . I was making her a promise. And--and telling her how I felt about her, when I don’t even know how I feel.” 

Tommy looked like he’s bursting with questions, but he held them back--something for which Oliver is very grateful. Instead, he made a statement. “So you let her go.” 

The anger was back in Tommy’s voice and Oliver looked at him with narrowed eyes. “She was upset. I didn’t want to hurt her.” 

“Oliver . . . you already did that,” Tommy said, sounding frustrated. “Why the hell didn’t you just text me earlier and say I should hold off on coming by?” 

“Would you have stayed away if I asked?” Oliver spit out, glaring at Tommy. “After all the pushing you’ve done? No, you wouldn’t.” 

“Okay, maybe I wouldn’t,” Tommy said, wincing a bit at the admission. “But I don’t understand what’s going on with you two, and I really don’t understand why you don’t, either.” 

His anger had been rising in the last few minutes, and it took all that he had not to snap at Tommy. But Tommy wasn’t who Oliver was mad at--he was mad at himself. 

“It’s easier to not know,” Oliver said slowly, sliding his hands away from his neck and sitting up straight. “Better to not think about it. Because . . . because it’s safer to say that Felicity is my friend and leave it at that.”

“Maybe that worked before,” Tommy said, his eyes locked on Oliver’s. “But from what you’ve said--and what I saw today--I think you gotta try something else.” 

He nodded a little, looking down as he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together. His eyes wandered to Felicity’s abandoned mug. It might be the first time he had ever seen her not finish a cup of coffee. There was a smear of her bright pink lipstick on the rim, standing out against the pale blue mug. He nearly reached out to touch the mug, to run his thumb over the spot where her lips had touched it. 

For a minute, when Felicity was talking with Thea, he had gotten a glimpse of a new world. A life that was richer than the one he had now. A future that wasn’t at all what he had expected when he returned to Starling. 

But one that he wanted. 

It had been a really long time since he had wanted something so strongly. Maybe that was why he hadn’t done more to reassure Felicity, why he had let her go. 

Because Oliver Queen, aka the Hood, didn’t get what he wanted. Nothing in his recent past had changed that belief. So maybe he should just take this estrangement as a way to course correct, to create some distance from Felicity--

No. Everything inside him recoiled from the idea. He didn’t want an end to this . . . connection with Felicity. Not like this. Not now.

So that meant it was time to figure out what came next. Even though he had no idea. But he would figure it out. He’d use everything he had to make a plan. Take the time, but not too much time, to craft something that had a chance at working. 

Felicity deserved the best apology he could make.

XXX

By the time she reached her apartment, most of the anger had faded away. Now she just felt . . . numb. A bit exhausted from her panic attack, but also from feeling like a complete fool. 

She just couldn’t believe Oliver would treat her like that. Like she was one of the anonymous women that ‘Ollie’ used to hook up with, instead of his friend. He must have been so uneasy after what had happened last night that he had put up barriers between them--made it so they couldn’t talk this over. 

Well, if that’s how he wanted it, that’s how it would be. It wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty of things to occupy her time. She could get _This or That_ finished with a day or two of hard work. The novel was rougher, less polished, but she knew the finish line was in sight for that book, too. 

Plus, there was figuring out what she was going to do about Sara, and calling her mom, and dying her hair and painting her nails and cleaning her apartment . . . she could very easily fill the hours she had wasted thinking about Oliver and being with Oliver. 

Okay, so maybe she was still angry. Because time with Oliver was never wasted. Not when he got her a new cup of coffee without asking, before she had even realized her mug was empty. Not with how he always listened to her, never acting like her babbling was a bother to him. Not in those moments when he looked at her and smiled, his eyes so warm and a shade of blue she had never seen before . . . 

With a grimace, Felicity went to her computer, flipping up the lid and sitting down in front of it. She had hoped the video software would have finished searching for Sara in her vigilante get-up, but it wasn’t quite done yet, thanks to her old laptop’s lack of processing power. It would still need another couple of hours. 

Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, Felicity took her tablet and opened her _This or That_ file. Writing on her tablet wasn’t ideal, but at least she knew this book was nearly done: something that felt good after all the struggle it took to write it. If she was able to finish it today and send it off to Laurel, at least that would make today better. Give her something good to remember. 

Felicity started slowly, but soon she got into a rhythm. She was just beginning to pull all the threads together in her conclusion, discussing how these format wars and device choices were a reflection of technology complicating everyday life, when her computer let out a soft beep. 

So caught up in her writing, Felicity jumped at the interruption before remembering the video searches. A break would be a good idea--and she was too curious about seeing Sara in action to wait any longer. She hit save on her tablet, making sure the file had updated in her cloud storage account, before setting down her tablet and looking at the search results. 

The software had pulled the raw camera footage, searching for any glimpses of the figure that Felicity had identified as Sara, and clipped out any non-relevant video. Now she could just fast forward through the resulting clips. 

For the most part, there wasn’t much. Sara must have a knack for avoiding cameras, because it was a lot of quick flashes and blurry images at the corner of the camera’s view. But then she hit pay dirt: three minutes of Sara, fighting . . . someone. 

Leaning in close to the screen, Felicity squinted as she tried to figure out who Sara’s opponent was. The camera angle made Sara be the primary figure in the video. But then, she whirled her attacker around and they switched places--and Felicity gasped as she saw the hooded figure. 

Sara was fighting the _Hood_? 

Her mind went blank as she realized Sara had gone toe-to-toe with Starling’s vigilante. What did that even mean? After all, the Hood seemed to be doing good things, from what she had read online in various blogs. So . . . what did that make Sara? 

It took her a moment to realize that Sara and the Hood had stopped fighting. Instead, they seemed to be talking--almost arguing from their body language. After a minute, Sara pushed past the Hood, crossing the camera’s path and disappearing. The Hood watched her go, motionless for a long beat, before he turned, fired an arrow, and jumped off the roof. 

Jumped off the roof like it was as normal as taking the stairs!

This was crazy. Totally and completely _crazy_. She didn’t know what Sara had gotten herself mixed up in, but Felicity had to do something. If she was worried before, now she felt frantic. 

She snatched up her phone, ready to call Sara and insist that she come over and explain herself, but just before she hit Sara’s contact, Felicity paused. 

Whatever was going on, it looked like serious business. So serious that Sara hadn’t told her anything about it. So to find out about this, she had needed to go digging in some not-exactly-legal ways. And while Sara had to understand coloring outside of the lines--she was a costumed vigilante, after all!--that didn’t mean she’d be happy about Felicity knowing her secret. 

If she wanted Sara to explain things, Felicity had to do this fairly. Logically. Which meant not blurting out what she knew in a phone call. No, it would be better to just invite Sara over, and once she could look her in the eyes, Felicity would ask Sara about her injuries. About the video footage. About Oliver’s odd reaction. 

And just what was up with Oliver and how he had looked at Sara last night? If Felicity didn’t know any better, she’d have to consider that perhaps Oliver was the Hood, which was even more crazy than Sara being a vigilante. Because why, after all those years on the island and facing God only knew what, would he come back to Starling City and put himself through hunting criminals with a bow and arrow? Wouldn’t he want peace and quiet, like the life he seemed to be building for himself now? 

Giving her head a shake, Felicity pulled herself back from the Oliver tangent. She needed to focus on Sara right now, not on flights of fancy involving Oliver in green leather. No matter how tempting that might be--and _God_ , why was she letting herself think about Oliver in leather pants when she was so angry with him? 

Her thumb pressed lightly against Sara’s contact and Felicity took a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm. When Sara answered, she kept her voice light. “Hey, you mind if I call in that raincheck for last night? I . . . I could use a friend.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Felicity felt guilty. Like she was getting Sara to visit under false pretenses. But the thing was . . . she really could use a friend tonight. After today, she wished that she could tell Sara everything that had happened and get her advice. 

But for now, Felicity and her messy relationship with Oliver would have to wait. Sara was more important. Making sure that her best friend was okay came first. 

There was a long pause before Sara replied, like she was measuring her words. But her words were casual when she answered. “That sounds great. I can pick up some Big Belly on my way over to your place.” 

“Great,” Felicity said, trying to smile. “See you around six?” 

“It’s a date,” Sara said with a chuckle. “Bye, Felicity.” 

“Bye,” she said softly before hanging up the phone and taking another look at the video footage.

XXX

Publisher’s Lunch, January 7, 2014  
 **Ex Astris Bought by Egmont Holdings**

In a surprising turn of events, a corporate angel has swooped in and purchased Ex Astris, the Penguin Random House imprint on the verge of closure. Egmont Holdings has already announced they intend to expand the imprint into a full-fledged publishing house, targeting the intersection of pop culture and technology that was Ex Astris’s original claim to fame, while cultivating a select group of authors and pushing into fiction publishing. 

“With new books from Susan Cain and Oliver Queen nearing publication, and several other exciting projects on the horizon, Ex Astris has a bright future ahead, and we at Egmont Holdings are thrilled to be part of that future,” reported Egmont’s CEO, Mark Francis. 

Starling City Examiner, January 22, 2014  
 **The Arrow and the Canary: New Names, New Approach?**

For the last two years, costumed vigilantes have patrolled the Glades, working outside the law in Starling City’s equivalent of the Wild West. And it seems that the masked crimefighters have made an impact: the Starling City Police Department today announced that crime in the Glades has dropped fifteen percent during the same period, with violent crimes such as murder and rapes dropping nearly ten percent. 

Meanwhile, word on the street has it that these justice-doers understand their impact. How else to explain their code names? The vigilante formerly known as the Hood got the word out that he goes by the Arrow now; a name that might strike less fear into the criminal element if it wasn’t for his reputation. He may not kill now, but the Arrow is still as vicious against crime as ever. 

His apparent new partner is the female vigilante who has been spotted in the Glades since last fall. Branded the Canary, her special focus on rapists and those who prey on women is reported to make female residents of the Glades feel safer than they have in years. 

“The Arrow and the Canary--they’re getting the job done. They look out for us. We’re gonna take back the Glades,” said one young woman, who identified herself as Sin.

Publisher’s Weekly, January 31, 2014  
 **Recent Sales and Acquisition Announcements**

\-- _This or That_ by Felicity Smoak to Ex Astris. The first work of completely new material from Smoak since her groundbreaking work _Invading the Treehouse_ is reported to be an engaging, in-depth look at decades of technological choices: Betamax or VHS, Blu-Ray or DVD HD, Kindle or Nook. Repped by Laurel Lance; summer publication targeted. 

Felicity Smoak Facebook page, February 3, 2014  
 **Thanks and More News!**

All the congratulations and fist pump gifs I’ve gotten since the news broke about _This or That_ has been spectacular. I wouldn’t be here without all of you and I’m so thrilled that you’re already excited for this new book.

That’s why I’m hoping you’ll be even more excited with what I’m about to tell you. You’re going to have double the pleasure, and by pleasure I mean a second book from me! I’ve been working on a novel while finishing _This or That_ and it’s nearly done and will soon be with my agent, who is already working hard to find a publisher for it. It’s such a huge change for me, to give fiction a try, but I feel like it’s time for me to try something new. To reveal a part of myself like never before. 

You’ll be the first to know what happens to _Scientific Magic_ (the tentative title for the novel). Until then, thank you again for your support through all these years!

Wall Street Journal, February 7, 2014  
 **Queen Consolidated Names Moira Queen CEO**

“Some may cynically say that this was always the intended outcome of our search for a new CEO,” Walter Steele, head of the search committee, said in his prepared statement. “Let me assure you, the goal of this protracted search was solely to find the best person to run Queen Consolidated. Moira Queen is that person, and I foresee great things ahead.”

XXX

Leaning heavily on Sara, Oliver tried not to reveal just how much his knee was affecting him. But they hadn’t even reached the bottom of the stairs when Digg pushed Sara out of the way and dragged Oliver to the medical area in the Foundry. “Jesus, Oliver, you keep going and your leg is gonna be useless.” 

“Thank you,” Sara said, shooting Digg a grateful look before glaring at Oliver. “You’re taking too many risks, Ollie. You need to rest.” 

“Can rest when I’m dead,” Oliver said, then bit back a groan as Digg manipulated his knee. “Hey!” 

“You deserved that,” Digg said. He kept moving Oliver’s knee around, then stood up with a sigh. “You can’t keep shooting up with lidocaine--or taking those island herbs--and going out there, Oliver.” 

Oliver gritted his teeth, feeling so damn tired. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with Digg and Sara about this, especially after having to cut patrol very short due to his knee blowing out on him. Because it was the continuation of the same argument they had been having for three weeks, about how he was pushing himself too hard, risking too much with the chances he took. They said that Brother Blood wasn’t worth the full-court press like this, that he was being too inconsistent and unpredictable. 

At least Tommy wasn’t ganging up on him about his work as the Hoo--the Arrow. No, Tommy was too busy managing Verdant and getting Ex Astris into the black. In order to preserve the fiction that Oliver had nothing to do with Ex Astris, Tommy had agreed to handle coordinating Egmont’s management of the publisher. But it was a lot of work, and only having Thea to help with Verdant meant Tommy had plenty on his plate. 

He was so busy, he didn’t even bug Oliver about making amends with Felicity--

Closing his eyes, he pushed down the emotions that her name caused in him. He couldn’t think about her now. Because his attempts to apologize had utterly failed so far. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. He had sent her a few text messages, had left congratulations on her Facebook when the deal for _This or That_ was announced. Just small overtures, trying to feel her out. It’d be one thing if she hadn’t answered each message, but she had. But her tone was always perfectly polite and damn near monosyllabic. No warmth, nothing of Felicity in her words. 

Clearly, she didn’t want to talk to him. She was still mad at him. So . . . so he had stopped. Taken a step back, telling himself that he just needed to regroup. Find another way. One that didn’t make him look pathetic, such as asking Sara for help. 

This wasn’t something he had ever done before: trying to get a woman to forgive him. In the past, he would have moved on long before now, found some other brunette to bury himself in. But Felicity was different, and not just because she was blonde. 

But whenever he tried to put anything he felt about Felicity into words, his tongue felt thick and his fingers twitched and his brain froze up. And until he could find a way to talk about Felicity, how could he get her to forgive him? 

The chiming of his cell phone pulled him out of his thoughts, and he scooped it up, grateful for the distraction. It’s an email from Isabel--actually, there’s two emails, one from earlier today and then this most recent one, and he nearly put his phone away without reading them. But at this point, he’ll take any kind of distraction. 

Isabel was, as always, all business. In the first email, she said she was attaching the final proofs for his book and reminded him that this was his last chance to change anything--a fact she had told him several times already. Oliver wasn’t sure if his patience was just at a low ebb right now, but the patronizing tone that Isabel always took with him was wearing thin. 

But then his eyes widened slightly as he read the last paragraph.

_In surprising news, Ex Astris is looking to blow through all that new money in a big way. They want to send you out on tour with another author; I don’t know who yet, but whoever it is, it’s a good idea. Not that you really need to do that much to promote the book, much less doing it by grinding through a bunch of encounters with “fans”, but it would definitely increase your bottom line and thus mine. They’re eyeing a mid-March start for the tour, starting in New York and ending up in Los Angeles. Probably would last about a month. I don’t get the timing--you should wait and kick off the tour in late May just before BookExpo and then wrap up at ALA Annual, but hey, they’re still going to send you to those events, so it’s not a problem for me. I’ll keep you posted._

A tour? For a month? There was no way. He couldn’t be away from Starling that long. He wouldn’t leave the city unprotected like that. Leave--

“Something up?” Sara asked, coming to stand beside him and craning her neck a little to look at his phone. 

Her question cut off his thoughts, thank God, because he knew where they were going and it wasn’t someplace he was willing for them to go. So he answered her honestly. “Isabel says that Ex Astris wants to send me out on tour.” 

“Yeah?” Sara asked, a smile appearing on her face. “That’s cool. Felicity said one time that she keeps hoping she’d get sent on a publicity tour but it hasn’t happened yet.” 

Why did everything in his life kept coming back to Felicity? Kept making him feel like she was the center of his world in some way?

“I did some press with the other book, but nothing like a tour,” he managed to say, trying to sound normal. “Not that I’m going to be able to do this tour.” 

Sara frowned, but then her face cleared. “You don’t want to leave Starling.” 

“Can’t,” he said, nodding. 

“Too bad,” Diggle said. “With that knee of yours, you could use a break. Time away to clear your head.” 

“It’s not that bad, Digg,” Oliver said, repeating what he’s been saying since Digg started harping, as he opened up Isabel’s second email. And when he read it, he stood straight up and winced at the sudden weight on his bad knee. 

Digg stepped forward immediately, steadying him a bit. Sara gave up on looking subtle and took his phone out of his hand. Oliver tried to grab it back, but she stepped away, a smirk appearing on her face as she reads Isabel’s email out loud. 

“So Ex Astris wants Felicity Smoak to go on this tour with you. I have no idea why they think it’s a good idea, but they’re being hardasses about it. Her book isn’t even coming out for months, but they’re willing to throw a lot of money at you for this tour. The last thing you need is her riding on your coattails and attracting more attention than you, so I’m opposed to this. I haven’t said anything to them yet, though. If you don’t get me an answer soon, I’ll turn down the tour for you.”

Sara looked at him, her face almost gleeful. “Your publisher thinks that you and Felicity are a perfect match.” 

Yanking his phone away from her, Oliver glared at her. “You don’t want to do this, Sara.” 

“You’re right, I don’t!” she said, getting in his face. “Because you’re being a stubborn asshole and I’m sick of it.” She stepped back, then let out a groan of frustration. “Digg, you deal with him. I’m going home.” 

She turned on her heel and stomped out, leaving Oliver blinking with surprise before looking at Digg. 

His partner let out a breath. “We got any more of that Scotch? You’re gonna need it.” 

XXX

There are a few things that Felicity can count on. How reading a good novel will always cheer her up. That you should never read the comments. And that people will surprise you if you trust them. 

And then there’s her mother.

After Felicity posted on Facebook about her novel, she had gotten a very enthusiastic call from Donna. Bubbling over with praise, her mother hadn’t held back how happy she was about Felicity taking her advice. “Oh, baby, everyone’s gonna love it and you’re gonna be bigger than . . . bigger than Nora Roberts!” 

“I doubt that, Mom--after all, it’s not a romance novel,” Felicity had said, trying to manage Donna’s expectations. But her mother would have none of that, and ever since, they had been calling each other more frequently, which was nice. 

Most of the time, they kept the conversation to her career and what was going on in Donna’s life. But today, her mother had sounded hesitant from the moment she had answered Felicity’s call, and it had taken a few minutes of prodding until Donna finally opened up. 

“Felicity . . . you never talk about him, and I haven’t seen anything about you and Oliver Queen in the gossip pages, so I was wondering . . .” 

Just the mention of Oliver’s name made Felicity close her eyes and curl up in her chair. Because any time she thought about him, she just felt so confused. Confused and hurt and sad. And she couldn’t seem to get past it, no matter how much she thought about what had happened. 

Thank God Sara hadn’t turned her back on Felicity after their conversation about Sara being the Canary. It had been probably the hardest discussion she’d ever had, and she still didn’t know how she hadn’t totally screwed it up with her proclivity for babbling. But Sara had been amazing: she’d been upset, of course, but she had understood where Felicity was coming from, had been touched at the amount of concern Felicity had about her. And while Sara had sworn her to secrecy and said she couldn’t tell Felicity anything about what she was doing, at least Sara had agreed to let Felicity keep tabs on her, just in case. 

It was reassuring that she wasn’t losing _all_ of her friends. Because as much as she had talked with Sara about Oliver before now, she just couldn’t do it now. Which worried Sara, she knew, but . . . the words just wouldn’t come. It was like there was no way of describing how she was feeling, what she was thinking when it came to him. And Sara hadn’t pushed her, so even though Oliver had tried to reach out to her, Felicity just couldn’t go back to the way things were.

“Mom--” Felicity started to say, trying to figure out how to respond to her mother’s question, only for her throat to close up. 

“Oh, baby,” Donna said, her voice soft. “You’re thinking too much.” 

“I guess so,” Felicity muttered, slipping her fingers under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. 

“You know there’s plenty of guys out here that owe me favors. Guys who are really good at breaking kneecaps.” 

Felicity let out a half-snort, half-laugh. She must sound really bad if Donna was breaking out the legbreaker jokes--something that a Las Vegas resident only ever did ironically. “Oliver doesn’t need to worry about guys meeting him in dark alleys. Seriously, Mom, it’s not like that. I . . . I just can’t talk about it.” 

“Whenever you can, you know I’m here,” Donna replied. “And damn it, I’ve got to get back to work. Talk to you later, baby!” 

Getting in a goodbye just before her mother hung up, Felicity set down her phone and leaned back in her chair, taking a few deep breaths. Trying to keep herself balanced. 

But no matter what she did, she felt unbalanced. Unsteady. Like something was missing. And it didn’t take a genius-level IQ for Felicity to know what-- _who_ \--was missing. 

It wasn’t like her to act like this. To be so coolly polite, to rebuff someone without giving them a chance to explain themselves. Because she did believe in forgiveness, in giving people the benefit of the doubt. But in this case, she just hadn’t been able to do that for Oliver. 

Because he had hurt her. First by springing his sister and his best friend on her--two people that she knew were important to him--and then pretending that he hadn’t done that in order to prevent them from talking about what he had said. It was all his fault--he was the one who opened the can of worms, he was the one who took their simple friendship and made it into something more--

_Whoa there, Smoak_ , a voice said in her head. _Is this really all on Oliver?_

She felt her lips purse into a pout, because she knew the answer but didn’t want to admit to it. But after a few moments, she sighed.

No, it wasn’t all on him. Oliver might have been the first one to say something that overtly hinted at there being more than friendship between them--but he certainly wasn’t the only one thinking like that. From the very beginning, Sara had pointed out that Oliver was interested in her. And Felicity had done her best to dissuade Sara from the idea, had worked really hard to ignore the way Oliver touched her and looked at her. 

Because she had feelings for him, too. Very non-friend feelings, ones that she had felt since the very beginning. And while denial had been a perfectly acceptable way of coping with those feelings, that method had stopped working the moment Oliver made it clear that he was willing to do whatever she needed. 

Damn it. It was bad enough that he was gorgeous. Like, ridiculously so, with that jawline covered in stubble which worked so well on him, and the shoulders and the arms that made his shirts look like they were straining to cover his torso. And his eyes--his eyes were completely unfair. 

But what were the chances that someone who looked like Oliver would also be so . . . so _good_? Because that’s what he was: good. Oh, she was aware that he had done things he was ashamed of, and not just while he was on the island. Yet the way he seemed to seek salvation for his failings, the way he was so determined to be a better man than he used to be . . . It was inspirational. It impressed her, made her respect him, made her admire him. It made her trust him. 

It scared her. 

Lust could be denied. Friendship was easy to accept. Respect and trust were good to have with anyone in your life. But when you combined all those elements and one person embodied all those things for you? 

That meant you should be using an entirely different word. A word that shouldn’t be scary but was. 

The shrill ring of her phone made Felicity jump and she fumbled to pick it up. It was an unknown number and she frowned before answering. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Felicity?” 

That wasn’t . . . ? “Yes, it is,” she said, wondering why someone who sounded like Tommy Merlyn was calling her. 

“Hey, it’s Tommy. Tommy Merlyn, Oliver’s friend?” 

Giving her head a shake but still feeling confused, Felicity sat up a little. “Yeah, I know you’re Oliver’s friend--I just don’t know why you’re calling me.” She closed her eyes at how blunt that sounded, but it was the truth. 

Tommy let out a quiet snicker. “Man, you’re awesome. I don’t know anyone who says what they think.” 

Felicity couldn’t help a small smile. “Most people, they realize how embarrassing that is and develop a brain-to-mouth filter.” 

“Well, from what Ollie says, you’re not like most people--you’re pretty unique.” 

Her smile dropped. “Is that why you called? To put in a good word for Oliver?” 

“It is, actually. This is a new experience for us, by the way, so that’s why Ollie’s making such a mess of it. And why I’m stepping in.” Tommy was attempting to be breezy, but Felicity could sense the seriousness underneath the charm and flash. 

“A new experience?” she asked, stalling for a little more time to think this over. 

“Trying to get a woman to forgive him--a woman that matters. Neither of us have ever had that happen before you. And Oliver, well . . .” He paused and Felicity imagined he was shrugging on the other end of the phone. “That island did a number on him, but what hasn’t changed about him is when something or someone matters to him, he gets all turtle-like. Locks it all up inside until he’s figured it out. And he still hasn’t figured you out.” 

Felicity gripped the phone tightly. “Tommy . . .” Because how was she supposed to respond to this? What should she do with this information, with Tommy putting into words something she had already sensed about Oliver? 

“Look, all I’m saying is, give him a chance, okay? Some kind of opening, because he doesn’t know what to do to make this right and he really wants to make things up with you.” Tommy paused. “You seem really great and it’d be good to have you around. Not just for Oliver, either. Thea keeps saying how adorable you are and I think you’re a breath of fresh air. So just think it over, all right?” 

“I . . . I guess I can do that,” Felicity said slowly. “Think it over, I mean. And then I’ll decide what to do.” 

“That’s all I’m asking, Felicity. Thanks for hearing me out.” 

She nodded, her brain still trying to catch up. But then she blurted out, “Tommy? If I don’t give Oliver a chance, what do you think will happen?” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then Tommy spoke, all the charm stripped from his voice. “I think he’d leave you alone for the rest of your life.” 

“Oh,” she said. Because what else could she say, when she suddenly had to consider the idea that she wouldn’t have Oliver in her life anymore?

XXX

This was why he didn’t really drink anymore. It smoothed out everything around the edges, made what was difficult seem easy and what was impossible just difficult. 

It made him feel like Ollie. Something that made Digg snort when Oliver said it.

“Now you’re referring to one part of yourself in the third person? Man, I haven’t drunk enough to deal with this shit.” 

Oliver snickered a little and grinned widely at Diggle. “There’s still some Scotch left . . .” 

“Oh, no, we are both cut off,” Digg said, taking the bottle and moving it away from him. “Or else we’d need Merlyn to drive us home.” 

For some reason, that made him laugh. In the back of his head, he realized it was a dick move to make--laughing about how his one-legged friend would have to figure out how to drive them home--but again, he was a little too in touch with his Ollie side right now. 

Digg looked at him over the rim of his glass as he sipped the last of his Scotch. “Hey, Oliver?” 

“Yeah?” he asked, shifting in his chair and looking up into the darkness above him, feeling the beat of the music from Verdant as a low buzz in his bones. A buzz that went along with the three glasses of Scotch. 

“You want to do that tour with Felicity, don’t you?” 

“Of course,” Oliver said. “A month with her? Hell, yeah, I want to do the tour. But it would be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And . . . and that’s sayin’ something.” 

His partner nodded. “Because you would be leaving Starling undefended?” 

“Yeah. But mostly . . . a month alone with Felicity? I’ve already gone too far with her--being alone with her that much, I’d tell her everything. And she doesn’t deserve that.” 

Digg’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe she should be the one deciding what she deserves, not you.” 

He sat up and pointed at Digg. “Don’t make it sound like I’m scared of her or anything. She should be scared of me, you know.” 

“And again, you should be letting her decide that. C’mon, Oliver, about eighty-five percent of your problems would be solved if you’d just talk to the girl.” Digg sounded annoyed but also amused.

Slouching down in his chair, Oliver shrugged. “I tried.”

“Text messages are not talking. Ask Sara to get Felicity to Jitters and then go talk to her. It’s that easy.” 

Sighing quietly, Oliver swirled his wrist, watching the harsh lights in the Foundry glint off the cut glass of his empty tumbler. “We haven’t done this in a while.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Diggle said. “With you back as BFFs with Tommy, I thought I’d let him handle your love life issues.” Digg smirked a little and Oliver rolled his eyes, putting aside his glass. “But,” Digg continued, “this is different. The problem you’ve got now, it’s one I know about. Balancing your feelings with needing to get the job done.” 

Something about the seriousness of Digg’s voice made Oliver take a closer look at him. Digg gave him a small, wistful smile. “I was married. But when we came home, we couldn’t make it work.” 

Oliver straightened and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Was she from Afghanistan?” 

“No, she was in my unit.”

For some reason, that was more surprising than the idea that Digg had been married before. Although Oliver didn’t really understand why he was surprised, but he certainly hadn’t ever really considered Diggle’s romantic interests. He knew the relationship with Carly had petered out, even before Carly had taken Digg’s nephew and moved to Central City. But beyond that, Digg didn’t really talk about dating or his life outside the Foundry. 

“Yeah?” Oliver asked, letting Digg know he was listening but allowing him to decide how much to tell Oliver. 

“Yeah,” Digg said, finishing his Scotch. “When we were over there, things were simple. We went on missions, watched each other’s backs. And in the down time, we were together. But then our tours were done, and . . .” Digg paused and let out a sigh. “I wasn’t in good shape and couldn’t fix myself. And Lyla knew she couldn’t fix me, either. So after a while, we pulled the ripcord. She took a discharge and got out, I went back for my third tour. And then I got into private security and ended up here.” He gestured around them, then looked at Oliver. 

The fog had been lifting, but Oliver took an extra minute to get his thoughts in order before he spoke. “So . . . so coming home ended things. When you didn’t have that shared purpose.” 

“That’s the thing, Oliver--we did have one.” Digg gave him a long look. “We had each other. That was our shared purpose. But I didn’t realize that back then. So here I am. I like it here, but I still screwed up something I wish I hadn’t.” 

There wasn’t as much regret in Digg’s voice as Oliver thought there would be. It was more matter-of-fact. But . . . but maybe some things went beyond regret. Perhaps some mistakes, ones that led to where you realized you were supposed to be, evoked a different feeling other than regret. 

In the last seven years, he had made dozens of choices that had brought him to this point. Most of them, he regretted. But maybe that wasn’t how he should look at them. Perhaps it was more about accepting they were unfortunate, difficult decisions--but if those decisions meant he got home, meant he had found the purpose for his life, should he regret them? 

He rubbed a hand over his face. Epiphanies you found at a bottom of a glass weren’t always real, Oliver knew, but he would definitely have to come back to this one. But for now . . . he took a deep breath and looked at Diggle. He was ready to ask Diggle for his opinion on what to do about Felicity, but at the last moment he chickened out. “Do you think--do you think it could have worked? You and your ex?”

Digg eyed him and they both knew Oliver had taken the easy route. But Digg didn’t call him on it. Instead, he stood up and picked up his suit jacket. “If we had talked? Yeah, I think we could have worked.”

Nodding, Oliver stood up as well. “Heading home?” 

“Yeah, unless you want me to drive you to the mansion--” 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Oliver said. “I’ll be here a while, and by then I’ll be okay to drive.” 

“You sure? With your record you don’t want another DUI,” Digg said with a smirk. 

Oliver laughed quietly. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.” 

With a nod, Digg turned towards the stairs, but paused. “Oliver? You know if you wanted to do that tour, I could stay here in Starling. Between me and Sara, and with Tommy . . . well, we’d at least be able to keep an eye on things. Let you--and your knee--get a break.” 

The shock and surprise must have shown on his face, because Digg just grinned. “Think about it,” he said before he climbed the stairs, leaving Oliver alone. 

For a few moments, he just stood in the middle of the space, contemplating what Digg had said. Had Digg just told him to go for it with Felicity, by removing the excuse Oliver had been using with everyone about why he couldn’t do the tour? 

Damn it, he totally had. The asshole. 

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite so hard for him to tap into that Ollie part of himself as he liked to think. 

Yanking his shirt over his head, Oliver walked over to the mats and started doing pushups. When they weren’t enough, he moved to the salmon ladder and did multiple rounds, trying to work out why he hadn’t thought of asking Diggle for help. Because Diggle was right: with Sara and Tommy, he could hold down the fort here in Starling. After all, Diggle had done it before, when Oliver went running off to Lian Yu last summer, and he’d been by himself then. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? 

_Because you were scared_ , his mind prompted. _You’ve been scared for months. But don’t you want to stop being scared?_

And the only answer he could give was _yes_. 

So that left him to figure out just what was this emotion seeping through him. It wasn’t anger or frustration or annoyance. No . . . it was hope. And excitement. Because what if he did go on the tour? What if he got to spend a month with Felicity, learning even more about her, observing her and talking to her? Would it be enough for him to know if he was ready? 

Ready for more? 

Just the fact that he was even having this thought, that he was letting himself think about this, was so overwhelming that it took hitting the mats for Oliver to realize he had just done something for the first time. 

He’d missed a rung on the salmon ladder. 

But as he laid there, looking up at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath, he found himself grinning a little. 

Oh-too-soon, he’d probably be back to thinking this was a bad idea. The worst idea. But for right now? It was a great idea. 

He was going to spend a month with Felicity Smoak. And by the end of that month . . . he was going to know how he felt about her, and he was going to do something about it. 

XXX

The fact that not only was Laurel calling before nine a.m., but she sounded wide-awake as well, should have been a clue that this phone call was big. But since Felicity had just woken up and hadn’t had any coffee yet, she was a bit slow on the up-take.

“Felicity! I have good news and good news! So what do you want first?”

“Huh?” Felicity asked, blinking and pushing some hair out of her face before fumbling around for her glasses. 

“I hope you’re ready to be rich,” Laurel said, sounding more excited than Felicity had ever heard her before. “I just sold _Scientific Magic_ to Hachette, and they’re currently offering, before I’ve even started negotiating, a six-figure advance.” 

Felicity felt her heart pound. “W-what?!?” she spluttered as she shoved her glasses onto her face. “Six figure--you mean, a hundred thousand dollars?” 

“Actually, right now they’re offering a hundred and fifty, but I’m pretty sure I can get them up to two hundred thousand,” Laurel said, her voice so cocky and proud that Felicity felt her mouth go dry. 

“Two--two hundred--I need to sit down. Oh. I’m already sitting,” Felicity gasped out. 

“Are you okay? Breathe, Felicity,” Laurel said, her excitement dropping down a notch. “Nice and easy.” 

Sucking in a few breaths, Felicity tried to get herself under control. Ex Astris had been very good to her over the years, but her advances had always been fairly modest. Whether it was because she wrote nonfiction or that her books had been more critically acclaimed than popular with the mainstream, she had never really raked in the money. She had been comfortable, even on the verge of well-off, when _Treehouse_ had succeeded as it did. But an advance of over a hundred thousand dollars? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. 

“You--you don’t think it’ll piss them off if you try to get more? I mean, it’s so much already, Laurel . . .” 

“And you deserve every penny. _Scientific Magic_ is amazing--I _cried_ while I read it, Felicity. Do you know how rarely that’s happened?” Laurel asked. “Hachette loves it and they know if this deal doesn’t happen, they’re going to miss out on a lot of money. And after all the years you’ve struggled, I’m going to make sure you get compensated for that struggle.” 

She sniffed, feeling Laurel’s belief in her wrap around her like a warm blanket. Because Laurel had struggled with her, too, through those years, and the fact that Laurel was getting her reward now, too, made it easier for Felicity to accept such a ridiculously large advance. 

“Okay, Laurel. You know what my requirements are, so--so just go ahead and negotiate to your heart’s content,” Felicity said, adjusting her glasses and smiling a little. 

“It’s already started and I’m having a blast,” Laurel said, reminding Felicity yet again that in some ways, her agent should be a lawyer. Laurel Lance was a shark in a nice suit. 

Grinning, Felicity snuggled in against her pillows. “You said you had good news and good news?”

“Oh, do I. Ex Astris getting bought and spun off from Penguin Random House has become the best thing ever, because they’ve got cash coming out the wazoo. They want to send you on tour for _This or That_.” 

Felicity blinked. “What? But the book’s nowhere near being ready!” 

“They’re fast-tracking--majorly fast-tracking it. They want you out there for a month starting next month, and they’re producing a chapbook with the first chapter as a teaser. And they’re already talking about BookExpo and ALA, too.” Laurel paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant. “It’s a joint tour. You’ll be going with another Ex Astris author.” 

“I guess it makes more sense if it’s not just me . . .” Felicity said, all set to ask who was going on the tour with her. But as soon as the question formed in her mind, she knew the answer. Knew from Laurel’s hesitation, knew from Murphy’s Law. “It’s Oliver, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is,” Laurel said tiredly. “I did my best to persuade them otherwise, since Sara told me you and Ollie have been . . . that things have gotten complicated.” 

Complicated. That was one way of putting it, Felicity thought with a slightly bitter snort. Ever since Tommy’s phone call yesterday, she had been trying to figure out her Oliver problem. She wouldn’t call it complicated--she’d call it a life-altering, life-ruining dilemma of epic proportions. 

And that wasn’t at all too dramatic a read on the situation, she was convinced. 

“If you don’t want this, Felicity, I can get you out of it,” Laurel said. “It might mean breaking the contract, but you’d have the _Scientific Magic_ advance to live on and I could easily sell _This or That_ to another house--” 

It would make things so much easier if she believed Laurel. If she thought she could get out of her contract with Ex Astris so simply. But Felicity knew it wouldn’t be simple--that it could bankrupt her when she was on the verge of finally being financially stable for the first time in seven years. Because there was no way a newly-rich Ex Astris would let her go without an expensive legal fight. 

“No, Laurel,” Felicity said softly. “I can do the tour. It’s just a month, right?” 

“Right. And I’ve already started talking with them about your accommodations, what you will need for traveling and during your signings, all of it. It’s your first tour--I want it to go well, Felicity.” 

She could hear how Laurel was trying to make the best of it. “You’re amazing, Laurel,” Felicity said, hoping all her gratitude came through in her voice.

“I just believe in you,” Laurel said gently. “Don’t obsess over the tour--focus on the _This or That_ revisions. And think up a way for us to celebrate together: you’re going to be in New York after all, and I haven’t seen you since I came back to Starling last year. We need to paint the town red.” 

“You, me and Sara,” Felicity agreed, smiling a little. 

“Yeah,” Laurel said. “I’ll talk to you when I know more, okay?” 

Felicity agreed and hung up the phone, leaning back against her pillows. Her jubilation about _Scientific Magic_ and her first book tour had been muted, which made her feel strangely dissatisfied and unhappy. Or maybe not so strangely, because it sucked. It sucked that this limbo with Oliver had ruined what should have been one of the best days in her life. 

And a chunk of the blame for today being spoiled had to rest on her shoulders. Because Oliver _had_ tried to get in touch with her. Yet she had rebuffed him, so was it any wonder he had stopped trying? 

The thought of spending a month with Oliver with this . . . _thing_ left unsettled made her skin crawl. She was fairly sure she would go crazy--that she would completely lose her mind and do something incredibly stupid. Something that would really wreck their friendship and completely rule out the chance of something more. 

Looking down at her toes, she picked at her chipping nail polish and made herself ask the question she had been trying to avoid asking. Did she want something more with Oliver?

Which was a stupid question. Because it implied there was some kind of choice she could make here. But the truth was . . . Felicity wasn’t sure if she could make that choice. If there was any way she could not have Oliver in her life. 

Tommy’s words from last night rang in her head. _“I think he’d leave you alone for the rest of your life.”_

She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to feel like this, as if some part of herself was missing, a part that she hadn’t ever really thought about until it was gone. Perhaps that was exaggerating things, but she didn’t want to give up on having Oliver in her life. Not before she figured out if they were truly just friends. 

For a moment, Felicity gazed at her phone. Then, her mind made up, she searched her contacts and pressed the one for Oliver. The phone rang several times before it was picked up. 

“Hello?” 

It was so good to hear his voice, even scratchy and gravelly from sleep, that the feeling was like a physical sensation. She licked her lips and said softly, “Hi, Oliver.” 

Because she was holding her breath already, she knew the quiet sound of a breath being drawn in was coming from him. “Felicity?” he asked after a moment, sounding like he couldn’t believe it was her. 

Felicity nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Because she couldn’t speak just yet. Because she had realized, when she heard him say her name, that she loved him.

So she did know if she and Oliver were just friends, Felicity thought. They weren’t. Because you couldn’t be ‘just friends’ with someone you were madly in love with.

End, Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that are curious, BookExpo is the publishing world’s major trade show, a time when publishers promote their forthcoming publications to booksellers, librarians and bloggers. It’s normally held in late May, often in New York City. ALA Annual is shorthand for one of two annual conferences held by the American Library Association, which is a professional event for librarians that is typically in late June, and rotates to various cities around the country.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeee. Everyone is so excited for the book tour! But first, there’s some things that Oliver and Felicity have to take care of, together and separately. But never fear, the tour starts in this chapter . . . and I think everyone will like the cliffhanger I’m leaving you on. ;-)

With the way he was rubbing his thumb and fingers together, he wouldn’t be surprised if a flame burst from his hand. But what else could he do, when he was so nervous and excited and worried? 

Because what if Felicity calling him, setting up this meeting at Jitters, wasn’t about moving forward? What if she wanted to go back, back to when they weren’t friends? She might want to make this strictly professional, especially since they had the prospect of spending a whole month together. 

Oliver took a slow sip from his cup of coffee, trying not to smile a little. A month with Felicity. Seeing her every day, getting to listen to her talk, seeing her in action with her fans . . . no matter how much he tried to rein this in, for once his ability to see the glass as half-empty was getting trumped by his daydreams. It wasn’t like him to feel so positive, but something about the deadline he had set for himself--that by the end of the tour, he would know how he felt about Felicity and do something about it--was letting him go off on flights of fancy. 

It didn’t make any sense, really. To get lost in daydreams like this. He knew that. But for now . . . for now, he wasn’t going to overthink this or block himself from feeling what he felt. It was strangely freeing, and a bit scary, to let the leash off himself. And also eye-opening. After all that he had experienced on the island, in Hong Kong, and beyond, he had thought he was irreparably damaged. Broken in some essential way which prevented him from ever having anything more than his mission. 

But somehow . . . he wasn’t. He had his family, even though there were still distance between himself and his mother. He had his friends, standing by his side whether he was Oliver or the Arrow. He had a career that he had built by himself, one that his name and his money wasn’t wholly responsible for. 

And then there was Felicity. This spark in his life, this source of unexpected connection and understanding, wrapped up in a woman who shouldn’t be real but was. 

He couldn’t understand how he had gotten so lucky, how he had managed to actually be something close to a whole man. But he had, and he knew he was only getting started. 

The sight of Felicity stepping into Jitters made his heart actually clench in his chest. Because . . . she was beautiful, and he hadn’t seen her for weeks, and she just looked so _Felicity_ in her purple coat and red dress, her glasses perched on her nose and dangly earrings swinging against her neck as she looked around. And when her eyes locked on his, he just barely held back a wide, goofy smile. 

There was still work to be done to make things better. Explanations and apologies to be made, a relationship to be mended. But in this moment, Oliver felt like he could do anything, because Felicity was giving him another chance, even though he didn’t deserve it, and he wasn’t about to waste it. 

He slid out of the booth as she approached. “Hi. Let me get you a coffee?” 

“I was the one who asked you here--I should be buying the coffee . . .” Felicity said, her fingers playing with one of the buttons on her coat. 

“Consider it part of my apology,” Oliver said, gazing down at her.

She gave him a long look, then a small smile appeared on her face. “Okay,” she said softly. “Grande vanilla latte, please.” 

Nodding, Oliver smiled back at her quickly, trying to keep himself under control, then walked over to the counter. He had never felt like this before: it was a bit like anxiety, but without the worry and fear that normally accompanied that emotion. It might be anticipation, but it felt stronger than that. 

Rather than get distracted trying to figure out what he was feeling, Oliver made himself focus on his upcoming conversation with Felicity. On figuring out how much he could reveal to Felicity, when he was still hesitant to think too deeply about how he felt. He knew he needed time to work up to this. Because Felicity deserved a man who was all in, but right now he wasn’t sure that was him. 

But how could he explain that to her without giving her the wrong idea? Making her think he wasn’t interested in her at all? 

The few minutes it took to get Felicity’s coffee, carry it back to their booth, and wait for her to take her first sip wasn’t nearly enough time to figure this out. So Oliver just took a deep breath and tried not to make things worse.

“I want to apologize for what happened, Felicity,” he said quietly, looking at her. 

She eyed him over the rim of her mug. “What exactly are you apologizing for, Oliver?” 

Was it odd that he wanted to smile at how she was pinning him down? That he wasn’t irritated by her request for clarification? 

“For having Thea and Tommy come along and not letting you know. It was impolite to have them come without asking you first,” Oliver said. He paused, knowing that wasn’t all of it, but not sure if he should say it. But he knew Felicity’s anger wasn’t just about his sister and his best friend, so he said quickly, “Especially with the timing.” 

Felicity set down her mug but kept her hands wrapped tightly around it. “I didn’t mind meeting Thea. I’ve been wanting to meet her, in fact, with how you talk about her. And it was nice to see Tommy again, even if it was briefly.” He sensed she was picking her words carefully. “But from my perspective, it looked like you were throwing up barriers to us talking. Because of what happened the night before . . .” 

“I realize that now,” Oliver said, leaning forward. “It wasn’t like that, though. Tommy wanted to drop by and say hello to you--he told me that. And I was going to tell you, first thing that morning, that he would be showing up. But then Thea asked to come along with me, and there wasn’t any reason for me to say no. I didn’t think to text you and let you know, but . . . but it just didn’t cross my mind.” 

When she didn’t say anything, looking lost in thought, Oliver suddenly understood what it was like to be her. Because the silence between them felt so empty and vast, he wanted to fill it up. Say something, anything, that would get her to forgive him. 

And that need for her to forgive him made him all the more determined to at least get them back to being friends. Because he wasn’t sure how he felt about her. He had never felt like this before and wasn’t sure if he could put his feelings into words. He wasn’t sure if there could be more between them. He wouldn’t blame Felicity for not wanting to change what they had or being unwilling to take a chance with him. But he knew now that he had to have her in his life, somehow. Maybe he would realize that friendship wasn’t enough--but it would be better than nothing.

She sighed softly. “I’m mad at you for something I could see myself doing, you know.” 

“What?” he said, feeling confused.

Her shoulders shrugged and she gave him a sheepish smile. “This wouldn’t be the first time I misread someone’s intentions. Thinking it was a date when it wasn’t, thinking it wasn’t a date when it was . . .” Her hands relaxed around her mug. “When I was at MIT, this guy in one of my classes asked me to get some coffee with him. I was standing there with a friend of mine when he asked, so I turned to her and said she should come along, too. And she gave me this look--” 

Felicity paused to laugh and Oliver let himself smile. “That ‘are you crazy, don’t you realize he just asked you out?’ look?” 

“Exactly,” Felicity said, nodding and grinning. 

And just like that, Oliver felt a weight lift off his shoulders. They could do this. They were actually talking, making progress. Like normal people did after a misunderstanding. 

But all his relief got swept away when Felicity’s grin faded and her face grew serious. “So I can forgive you for Thea and Tommy. For them showing up unannounced and you not thinking to give me a heads-up. But, Oliver . . . I have to ask.” 

She paused, worrying her bottom lip. The longer she took to come up with her question, the more nervous he got. 

“What exactly did you mean that night? Saying that--that you couldn’t do anything but help me?” 

XXX

If she didn’t think she would pass out first, Felicity would hold her breath while waiting for Oliver to reply. Because this felt like one of those pivotal moments, the kind where if her life was a movie, “Felicity” would be holding her breath. Holding her breath and gazing at “Oliver” while looking prettier and taller than she really was. 

But this wasn’t a movie. And while Oliver was certainly handsome enough to be a movie star, he wasn’t some perfect romantic hero. He could be distant and he was definitely keeping things from her and he seemed to prefer nonverbal communication to actually talking about how he felt. 

So she was nervous about asking him flat-out what he meant. It wasn’t what a girl in a romantic comedy would do. But again--this wasn’t a movie. And she needed to know if she was dooming herself to loving someone who thought of her as just a friend. 

Her first glimpse of him, when she walked into Jitters, made her stomach swoop. Because . . . _of course_ she loved him. He was handsome and gorgeous and charming. But even more than that, he was thoughtful and inspiring and caring, a man who made her feel better about herself while also working so hard to be a better man. He wasn’t the spoiled frat boy he used to be--and not just because of those five years he was gone. It was all the things he had done since he had come back that had turned him into Oliver. Into the person with whom she wanted something more. 

It was amazing she hadn’t immediately started babbling. But when she saw him, there wasn’t just a confirmation of how she felt. There was also the echoes from their last meeting, echoes of hurt and disappointment. And until they dealt with that, until she knew what was going through his head, she had to keep the brakes on her feelings. Had to slow the train down. 

Oliver took plenty of time to respond. She could almost see the wheels turning as he formulated his answer. When he spoke, she noticed how his fingers were rubbing together, in his nervous little twitch. The one about which she didn’t think he was fully conscious, or else he would have stopped himself from doing it. 

“It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realized what I was saying,” he admitted slowly. “And that . . . that there could be a deeper meaning.” 

Felicity felt her mouth go dry. He was letting her down easy. Trying to say he hadn’t meant what he said, that he just wanted to be friends--

“It--it was just--it’s what friends do for each other,” he said, talking faster. “They help each other, you know? But--” He paused, his eyes locking on hers and Felicity felt like the rest of the world had vanished. It was just her and him, and so maybe this was like a movie.

“But not only friends, either.”

What was he saying? Was he telling her he . . .? She couldn’t even finish the thought. Couldn’t do anything except stare at him. 

He leaned back and ran his hands over his face. “I know this is a dick move, but . . . but I don’t really know what I meant, other than you’re important to me and I don’t want you to doubt that. I just--with what I’ve been through, I’m not exactly a normal guy and . . .” His voice trailed off, his shoulders slumping and his hands falling onto the table. 

If it was anyone else, she would think this was some line. A way to keep her on a string, pulling her close when he wanted and then pushing her away. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Oliver. And she knew he had darkness in him--darkness he must be scared of. Because when you went through something life-changing and traumatic, it took away a part of you, a part that could seem lost forever. It would make you gunshy of taking risks, especially with your heart. 

So she got that. She really did. But . . . but where did that leave him, and her, and them? 

Slowly, Felicity let her hand inch across the table, until her fingertips touched his. She did her best to ignore how her skin tingled when she made contact with him. Because she couldn’t let her hormones distract her from getting this worked out. 

“After I was attacked,” she started, noticing how his head immediately lifted, all his attention on her. She let her eyes drop to their hands as she kept going. “I felt so . . . lost. I was recovering from my injuries and it took a while for me to realize that it wasn’t just my body that needed healing. My--well, my soul or spirit or whatever you want to call it--my soul needed to get better, too. And it was hard. I always buried things down, when something was bothering me or stressing me out, but I couldn’t bury this.” 

She paused, chancing a quick look at him to see his reaction. His face was relatively stoic, with only his lips pressing together and a slight tension in his jaw. But his eyes--oh, if she kept looking at him she would never finish this. So she looked back down at the table and cleared her throat. 

“I saw a therapist for a while and that helped. My mom stayed with me, even though she got fired from her job. And Laurel and Captain Lance worked together to bring Sara into my life--she started off as a kind of bodyguard for me, did you know that? So I would feel safe.” 

“Felicity,” Oliver said, his voice low and strained. 

“Please, just--let me get through this,” she said quickly, glancing at him again. She waited until he nodded. 

Taking a quick sip of her coffee, Felicity tried to center herself as she prepared for what she was trying to say. “I still push down a lot of emotions--I let myself get focused on something else, something that will let me ignore whatever I’m worried or stressed about. I always choose flight over fight. But it’s not healthy, and it’s something I’m always going to work on. And that makes me second-guess myself a little. So . . . so I can understand if you’re not sure about things, Oliver.” 

Her heart beat faster as she looked at him. No quick glance now--no, this was their eyes meeting, blue on blue, and Felicity felt her palms go clammy over how much she had already revealed of herself and how he had listened to all of this, not interrupting or giving her platitudes or anything. Just . . . listening. 

“For now, it’s okay,” she said, trying to smile. “If you’re figuring stuff out. But--but I just hope that when you do make up your mind, you, y’know, let me know where your head’s at, so I can know? I mean, so we don’t have some weird awkward thing where we don’t know where we stand and it’s awkward and--” 

“Felicity,” he said, a quick smile flashing across his face. 

“Just--just be honest with me and we’ll be good, okay?” she said quickly, feeling grateful that he had interrupted her now and amazed at how he could bring her back to herself so easily by just saying her name. And slightly embarrassed at how much she had said and kinda turned on from touching her fingers to his which shouldn’t be normal. 

He gently lifted his hand and tapped his fingers against the back of her hand, making her look back up at him. “Being honest with you is the least I can do.” He smiled at her, one that had teeth and everything, and the breath was knocked out of her. “And you’ll be the first to know when I’ve got things figured out. I won’t drag it out, Felicity.” 

It was probably her own feelings, the ones she might be alone in feeling, that made her want to read something into his words. Something that seemed like a promise. But that was how they had ended up here--not taking words at face value--so Felicity wasn’t going to do that again. No, for now, what they said was all there was. And Oliver was showing the friendship and respect he had for her. 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity smiled and nodded. “Okay.” She lifted her coffee and took a large swallow, just as her stomach rumbled. Her cheeks went red as she covered her belly with her hand. 

Oliver grinned at her, and God, this was going to be a problem. _Focus_!

“How about I get you a muffin?” he asked, starting to rise even before she said anything. 

“No, I’ll get it,” she said, reaching for her purse. She stood up and something made her give him a quick wink. “You’re not the only rich person at this table, Mr. Queen.” 

His eyebrows shot up. “What?” he asked, sounding surprised and confused.

“I’ll tell you after I get my muffin,” she said, feeling saucy. “Let’s just say I’m going to be getting the fanciest, most expensive muffin available today, because I’m celebrating.” 

As she walked towards the counter, Felicity felt giddy. Because yes, things were still uncertain with Oliver--but in a way that made her tingle. And she had to be thrifty with her advance, because there were bills to pay and gifts to bestow and charities to support. 

But right now? She was going to splurge on the chocolate chip and macadamia nut muffin that she normally just looked at longingly, and she could feel Oliver watching her as she walked away. 

Why wouldn’t she be giddy with all that?

XXX

Publisher’s Lunch, February 13, 2014  
 **Hachette Acquires Scientific Magic by Felicity Smoak**

The first novel by Felicity Smoak, tech goddess, has been snapped up by Hachette with a six-figure advance. They’re high on the prospects of Smoak making a splash in her fiction debut. Publication is slated for the fall; deal was brokered by Laurel Lance.

Starling City Times, March 4, 2014  
 **Social Page: The Queens Enjoy A Family Dinner**

One of Starling’s first families were seen in public together for the first time in months. Happily, it’s not due to discord. No, with Moira drawing rave reviews as the new CEO of Queen Consolidated, Oliver building a new career as an up-and-coming author, and young Thea the assistant manager at nightspot Verdant, the Queens are back to being movers and shakers in this city. Yet they found the time to reconnect over dinner at Table Salt, as pictured here. 

XXX

“Oliver, are you sure about not having Mr. Diggle accompany you on your book tour? I don’t like the idea of you being unprotected,” Moira said, taking her coat from the cloakroom attendant. 

“Mom, nothing’s happened since that attack right after I came back. You don’t have anything to worry about,” Oliver said, helping his mother into her coat. “Besides, I’d feel better knowing that Digg was here to keep an eye on you and Thea.”

Thea rolled her eyes. “Like I get into a tenth of the trouble you do, Ollie.” 

“Or you could just be better than me at hiding it, Speedy,” he said, smirking at her. 

“I’ll never tell,” she said, leaning up to hug him before kissing Moira’s cheek. “I have to get to Verdant. I’ll see you later.” 

Oliver watched her go, feeling a swell of emotion at seeing a happy Thea. His sister was special. He had always thought so, but now . . . he was so damn proud of her. With how she had a job and a stable relationship and everything. 

“If she put her mind to it, Thea could be running the company in two years,” Moira said wistfully, taking Oliver’s arm. “Look at what she’s done with that nightclub.” 

Nodding, he looked down at his mother. “She’s the best of us.” 

As he turned to make sure Thea got into her cab, he could feel his mother’s eyes on him, heavy and dark. He waited an extra moment after Thea left before looking back to Moira. “What is it, Mom?”

“I don’t know how you forgave me. For making you get on that damnable boat.” 

Having this conversation in the lobby of Table Salt: it wasn’t where he thought it would happen. But if Moira was willing to open that can of worms, he was going to let her. But he wasn’t going to hold back.

“I’m not sure I can say I’ve forgiven you. More that I’ve chosen not to think about it,” Oliver said quietly, gazing into the eyes that were just like his own. “Otherwise . . .” 

Moira pressed her lips together and nodded. “I understand. But since I have never said this before . . . I do regret my actions. Not simply because we lost your father and what you experienced afterwards, but because I didn’t agree with Robert’s course of action. He argued we had been too lenient--that I had been too lenient, especially after that business with that girl.” 

He sucked in a breath, feeling a wave of shame. He hadn’t even thought of Sandra in so long . . . 

Giving his head a small shake, he swallowed. “Well, it was all a long time ago. And it worked out. In a way.” 

She clutched his arm. “Oliver . . .” 

“Let’s get you into a cab, Mom,” he said, noticing how they were attracting attention. Moira nodded, allowing him to propel her out of the restaurant. But he didn’t miss that instead of kissing his cheek as normal, his mother hugged him tightly before getting into a cab. 

Once his mother was gone, Oliver sucked in a breath and hailed his own taxi. There were only a few days left before he was leaving, and he needed to get to the Foundry. 

Diggle had somewhat reluctantly agreed to wear the hood a few nights a week, to keep up the illusion that the Arrow was still patrolling. But Sara would be doing the lion’s share of the work in the field, with Digg providing backup and Tommy helping out in the Foundry when he could.

Oliver would be lying if he didn’t have moments of worry and guilt over this course of action. He had done his best to keep them to himself, because he didn’t want the others to feel like he doubted their abilities. He didn’t . . . but none of them were the one who started this. They weren’t the ones with the mission to carry out. 

The closer he came to leaving, the more selfish he felt. For wanting to get away, for wanting a break, for wanting something for himself other than life as the Arrow. 

It had been Diggle, last night, to try and make him see things differently.

_“You’re a soldier in a war, Oliver,” Diggle said, giving him one of those long, level looks. “To keep your edge, you have to take time to refine it. And you do that in the down time. By letting yourself rest, recover from physical injuries--” Digg looked pointedly at Oliver’s knee before continuing. “By reminding yourself that you’re still human under that hood.”_

_“Intellectually, I know that,” Oliver had said, sipping the tea made from his island herbs and trying to hold back his grimace at the never-pleasant taste. “But emotionally . . .”_

_Digg nodded. “I get it. Emotions are tricky.”_

_Oliver looked at Diggle, remembering their conversation last month. “How did you do it? Manage being married and going on missions with your wife?”_

_“I didn’t, in the long run,” Digg said matter-of-factly. Oliver quirked an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook, and Digg sighed. “Having Lyla . . . she was something to fight for. If you go into a battle without anything to fight for, it’s too easy to give up. But knowing I was watching her back? Knowing I had her to live for?” He shrugged. “You can stare down death with something to live for, or not. Something to live for is better.”_

Ever since last night, Oliver had been turning Diggle’s words over and over in his mind. Wondering what he had to live for. It wasn’t that he had to search for reasons to fight. There was the mission his father had left him, the goal to save Starling and be part of its renewal. And there was his friends and his family. 

But Oliver was pretty sure Diggle meant there should be one person, and one person alone, that Oliver was fighting for. 

And he couldn’t deny it. Not with how his thoughts were never far from Felicity. Even with the limited contact he had with her over the last few weeks, he felt close to her. 

Felicity had thrown herself into her work, of course. She had mentioned at their now-weekly coffee session that she was trying to get _This or That_ revised quickly, and there was also a lot of work to be done on her novel. Oliver, who had finally finished his book, sympathized with how frazzled she must be. Add in all the emails they were each receiving from their agents and Ex Astris, and Oliver wasn’t the only one to feel like there weren’t enough hours in the day.

Yet neither of them were willing to repeat what happened before, when they went so long without seeing each other while Felicity was working on _Scientific Magic_. So they had coffee once a week, and talked on the phone, and sent texts back and forth all day long. 

It was probably for the best, Oliver thought, as he paid the cabbie and got out in front of Verdant, bypassing the line and heading to the side entrance to the Foundry. If he saw Felicity more, it would be too easy to get swept up in what was crackling between them. 

If he thought there had been a certain tension between them before . . . now he could practically feel the electricity whenever he was with her. And there was flirting. A _lot_ of flirting. 

Only a week to go before the beginning of the tour. When he would have a near-unlimited amount of access to Felicity. Oliver wasn’t sure how it was healthy, the amount of pleasure that thought gave him.

But before the tour began, there was still plenty of work for the Arrow to do. So Oliver reluctantly set aside his thoughts of Felicity, preparing himself to be the protector of Starling City. Preparing himself to be a man who was fighting for his city. 

Preparing to be the Arrow.

XXX

“I still can’t believe you’re going to stay here in Starling City instead of coming on tour with me,” Felicity said, lifting her glass and drinking the last of her very nice red wine.

Sara sighed. “If you keep saying that, you’re gonna make me feel guilty.” 

“Good--you should feel guilty,” Felicity said, trying to sound firm, only to break down into giggles. Sara laughed too, and Felicity couldn’t help savoring this moment. Feeling free and light and _safe_. 

Ever since she had sold _Scientific Magic_ and reached an understanding with Oliver, Felicity had felt so good, thanks to the feelings of relief and anticipation. For the first time in years, she felt hopeful about her future. Excited. Not weighed down, wondering how to pinch her pennies. 

That was why she and Sara were enjoying lunch in this nice, pretty bistro, instead of at Big Belly. Not that Felicity would ever give up Big Belly, but . . . it was nice to have options. She wondered if this was how Oliver felt: like the world was limitless and anything was possible. 

Not that she was anywhere near as rich as Oliver. Although he’d never really made a big deal out of his money, she had to give him that. For a billionaire, he drank the cheapest coffee you could get at Jitters: always a small black coffee.

The clearing of a throat made Felicity jerk back to reality. Sara was smirking at her, her chin resting in her hand. “So what was Ollie wearing in whatever fantasy you just drifted off into?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“First off, he’s kind of your ex--it’s weird for you to ask me that,” Felicity said, wrinkling her nose. “And I wasn’t fantasizing about Oliver.” 

Sara raised her eyebrows. “Really? You were looking pretty dreamy-eyed there.” 

“I was just . . . thinking about him. That’s different from fantasizing,” Felicity argued weakly.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Sara said, swirling the wine in her glass. “Maybe I should go on the tour--just to watch you two moon over each other. Because if you’re this giggly now, I can’t imagine how you’ll get with constant access. And Ollie is just as bad, too.” 

Felicity let her eyes drop to her plate as she dragged her fork through the remainder of her pasta. Sara was probably right: she was acting like a girl with a crush. But she couldn’t stop acting like this. Because things with Oliver were . . . she had never felt like this. 

“I can’t seem to help it,” Felicity said quietly, glancing up at Sara. “It’s kinda scary, when I think about it. Because this isn’t like me. And because . . . because he doesn’t know what he wants, and what if he decides he’d rather be friends?” 

“I don’t think that’s what he wants, Felicity,” Sara said gently. “I mean, I haven’t talked to him about this, but from the way he’s acting--he’s smitten. I’ve certainly never seen him like this.” 

The bubble of hope, the one that waxed and waned inside her, grew so large at Sara’s words that Felicity felt breathless. The connection between Oliver and herself was just so potent, so magical, that her heart couldn’t seem to stop wanting this. Wanting him. 

“If you came on the tour, you could be our chaperone,” Felicity said, trying to smile. “Like at school dances.” 

Sara snickered. “Leaving a foot of space for the Holy Ghost, huh?” 

“Something like that,” Felicity said, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Listen,” Sara said, her voice growing serious, “you should have fun on this tour. You’re going to meet so many of your fans, you’ll get to talk about your books . . . this will be good for you.” 

“I hope so,” Felicity said. “I’ve worked really hard over the last six months. It’ll be nice to relax a little. Not that I won’t be working just as hard on the tour, but I’m hoping it’ll be fun.” 

Nodding, Sara topped off her glass of wine and held the bottle up towards Felicity. She set aside the bottle when Felicity turned down a third glass. “I know you’re nervous about spending so much time with Oliver, but--”

“I’m not, actually,” Felicity interrupted. “That . . . that part is good. A little nerve-wracking, but the good kind of nerves, you know?” 

Sara smiled softly. “Yeah, I know.”

Felicity took a few more bites of her pasta, not wanting to waste such good food. It let her observe Sara, who was looking a lot better than she had a few months ago. It seemed to Felicity that someone knowing her secret was making things easier for Sara. Whether it was because she didn’t have to hide with Felicity, or she appreciated the 911 app Felicity had created and loaded onto Sara’s phone--something she could use if she got into trouble while being the Canary--Sara was definitely happier. 

With a quick look around the restaurant, Felicity leaned forward and spoke quietly. “How . . . how are things going with the Arrow?” 

“Things are good,” Sara said after taking a sip of wine. “We work together pretty well.” 

“Is he why you’re not coming on the tour?” 

It was a question that had been nagging at Felicity ever since Sara had turned down her offer. Her friend had explained she couldn’t be away from the dojo for so long, couldn’t go without any money coming in for a month. But even Felicity’s offer to pay Sara as her assistant hadn’t swayed her. 

Sara looked at Felicity, her lips pressed together. Then she nodded. “He asked me to stay. To help him protect Starling.” 

“Oh.” Felicity took a deep breath. “That . . . that’s good? That he’s willing to ask for help, I mean. And that he feels like he can rely on you.”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Sara said. “I’m sorry I can’t come, Felicity--”

“No, no, I understand,” Felicity said quickly. “It makes sense. You must be really close to him.” 

Shrugging, Sara threw back the last of her wine. “I guess.”

“Do you even know who he is?” Felicity asked, frowning a little. “I mean, by now I’d think you would know, but maybe he’s the ultra-paranoid type and no one knows. Wait, he is a man, right?” 

Sara laughed quietly, her body relaxing. “Yes, he’s a man. Believe me, the leather pants should have given that away--I can’t wait to tell him about this.” 

“Oh, God, now I’m babbling to people I’ve never even met,” Felicity said, feeling her face go red. 

“You’re cute,” Sara said with a grin.

Sighing, Felicity ducked her head. The embarrassment over her babbling was at least helping to move the conversation away from the Arrow. But since she had figured out that Sara was the Canary, she had sometimes wondered about the green-clad archer. Wondered who he was.

With a shake of her head, Felicity looked at Sara. “Did you want dessert? I was hoping to work off lunch with some shopping, and then maybe ice cream. If you were interested . . . ”

“Hell, yes,” Sara said with a smile. “Looking for anything in particular?” 

“Just some new things . . . maybe a new pair of magic shoes,” Felicity said, accepting the bill from the waiter with a smile. 

“Magic shoes?” 

Digging through her purse for her wallet, Felicity said distractedly, “Yeah . . . the shoes I wore to that book signing at Star Books? The ones Laurel gave me?” 

“Oh, right, those. You want a new pair?” 

“I like the idea of having double the magic,” Felicity said with a grin, setting down enough bills to cover their check and leave a good tip for the waiter. “Ready to go?” 

Laughing, Sara stood up and swept a deep bow to Felicity. “Magic shoes await!” She was quiet until Felicity started walking with her, then she whispered, “And you can pump me for intel on what Ollie might like.” 

“Sara!” Felicity yelped, turning to look at her friend. And that just made Sara laugh harder. 

Now she was regretting just how much she had told Sara. Not that it was all that much, but Sara took crumbs and built a wedding cake out of them. Felicity felt her face go crimson at the direction in which her mind had gone. Because that was really going too far. 

There was only a week before the tour would start. She had a lot of work to do, tons of preparations to make. The last thing she could afford was getting lost in daydreams of Oliver. 

But it was getting harder and harder not to. 

XXX

Felicity Smoak Facebook page, March 5, 2014  
 **I’m Coming To You!**

I am so thrilled to officially announce that I’m going on tour! Over the next month, I’ll be visiting twenty-five cities in the US, speaking and doing signings at bookstores and college campuses. If you click on the events tab, you can see if I’ll be coming to a city near you. And you actually get two for the price of one, since Oliver Queen will be joining me on this tour. What could be better?

Publisher’s Lunch, March 7, 2014  
 **Ex Astris Tour Kicks Off Soon**

Newly independent Ex Astris is already establishing how it’s different from its former self. Going against their previous philosophy, a new focus on marketing is evident with the announcement of the authors being sent on tour by the publisher: Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak. In a joint tour of compelling authors, Queen and Smoak will visit twenty-five cities, promoting their forthcoming titles. Full details are available at the Ex Astris website.

XXX

Oliver was man enough to admit that if he wasn’t standing on the tarmac at Starling City International Airport, completely out in the open and exposed, he would be pacing. But he could see a few paparazzi lingering just out of eyeshot and he didn’t want to give them anything more than absolutely necessary. Especially if the rainy, foggy conditions delayed their departure and they had to go into the main terminal. 

Diggle would be arriving with Felicity at any moment. Oliver had suggested having Digg pick her up and bring her to the airport, to help conceal his surprise for her. He knew Felicity had anticipated taking a commercial flight to New York. But since this was the longest travel leg on their trip, and he was a billionaire, why not have a little bit of comfort to start? And that meant using the Queen Consolidated jet to take them to New York. 

Deep down, Oliver knew that this was about more than comfort. It was about pampering Felicity. Giving her something special, something memorable. He could do that for her--and he wanted to do it. She had done so much work for the tour, taking point on most of the questions that Ex Astris had put to them. It wasn’t like she pushed him aside or didn’t ask his opinion: she just had a take-charge nature and a gift for organization. Plus, she still knew so much more about the publishing world than he did, even with his work to learn about the business he was in. 

And maybe he just wanted to see her face when she saw the jet. 

Smiling to himself, Oliver craned his neck as he searched for the car. When the silver Bentley turned the corner and approached him, he felt his smile widen at realizing Felicity was sitting in the front seat next to Digg. 

As soon as the car stopped, he opened the passenger door and leaned down. “Wow, I didn’t know people could ride in the front seat of this thing.” 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Diggle was horrified when I insisted on sitting next to him. But Oliver, what are we doing here?”

Oliver offered her a hand to help her out of the car, a hand that she just barely brushed against as she stepped onto the tarmac. She was a bright spot of color in the gray twilight in her purple coat. “If the jet doesn’t get used, why bother having it? So . . .” 

Behind her glasses, Felicity’s eyes went wide. “What?” 

God, she made him want to smile all the time. “I thought we could take the Queen Consolidated jet to New York. Start the tour off with a bang. Surprise.” 

It was only now, with Felicity gaping at him, that Oliver suddenly realized that maybe he shouldn’t have done this. That he shouldn’t have kept this from Felicity, that he was doing the same thing all over again--

“Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to see a private jet! And we’re going to fly on it? Really?” 

And then he had an armful of Felicity, pressed up against him as she hugged him. “Thank you! Oh, this is awesome!”

His arms hung awkwardly at his sides as he tried to get his brain to start working. Because she had never been this close to him before, and it felt really good, even with all the layers between them, and no, the layers were a good thing. Because her arms were holding him tightly and he could catch a whiff of something citrusy that could be her shampoo or perfume or just her, and--

Before he could do anything like reply to her enthusiasm or hug her back, Felicity went rigid. She pulled away quickly, taking two large steps from him and nearly bumping into Digg, who was carrying her suitcases towards the jet. Even in the chilly air, her face was flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Oliver.” 

He almost shook his head, like a swimmer trying to get water out of his ears, because he didn’t understand what she had said. “What?” 

“That!” she said, her hands gesturing wildly between them. “The--the tackle hug.” 

“The . . . tackle hug,” he repeated, feeling his lips quirk upwards. “How is that different from a normal hug?”

She looked totally thrown, especially when he stepped closer to her. “It--it’s all . . . you know, like tackling someone. As if you were a quarterback and I was a guy on the other team and I was trying to, you know . . . tackle you. But with a hug included.” She bit her lower lip, looking up at him once he came to a stop in front of her, and then gave him a small smile. “Thus, tackle hug. Get it?” 

“Mmm, yes,” he said, lightly cupping her elbow and turning them towards the jet. “You made it very clear. And you don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I was just really excited about the private jet, okay? I never thought I’d get to fly on one,” Felicity said, her eyes beseeching him. “But you probably flew on one of these before you were even born, so I guess it’s no big deal to you.” 

“Are you okay with this?” he said, pausing at the base of the stairs that led up to the jet. “With me surprising you like this? Because if you aren’t--” 

Of all the reactions he expected Felicity to have, rolling her eyes and tilting her head to one side wasn’t on the short list. It wasn’t on any list. “Oliver,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I really appreciate you doing all this, because it was very sweet and thoughtful of you, and I’m really excited about this flight, more than any flight I’ve ever taken, except maybe the first one I ever took. I was just surprised, you know? Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re a billionaire.” 

“What?” he said, letting out a soft bark of laughter. “Really?” 

“Really!” she said, smiling up at him. “I mean, you drink boring coffee, you wear jeans and henleys most of the time, you never talk about buying cars or small countries or anything . . .” 

He snorted. “Small countries?”

Felicity raised her shoulders in an elegant shrug, her smile still in place. And Oliver couldn’t help but just look at her for a long moment, soaking up this feeling. This giddy, loose, relaxed feeling. Being with her just felt so fun. After months of thinking and deliberating his every move, it felt so fucking good to let go and do whatever he wanted when it came to Felicity. Smile at her, flirt with her, touch her . . . 

_Slow down there, Queen_ , he told himself. _Honesty, remember?_

The last thing he wanted to do was give Felicity mixed messages. She had given him an incredible gift by letting him wait to put his feelings into words and allowing their relationship to stay undefined. He wasn’t about to dishonor her trust by going farther than he should go. 

Even if he was already thinking about how he could find an excuse to hug her. 

“Well, I am kinda a billionaire,” he said, gesturing to the jet. “So are you ready to see what my family spends their money on?” 

“So ready! Do you think the pilot could give me a tour and explain everything?” Felicity asked, starting to talk quickly as she climbed the steps into the plane. 

And as he followed her, Oliver couldn’t help giving his head a small shake. Felicity was one in a million--no, one in a billion. He had the feeling that the next month was going to be something special. 

XXX

With a blissful sigh, Felicity flopped down on the bed in her hotel room. Even though she had experienced a cross-country overnight flight and a full day of publicity, she felt like she was on cloud nine. And it wasn’t just from the fluffy duvet and the even dozen pillows on her bed.

She had a suspicion that Oliver had done more than arrange the jet for their flight--he was probably responsible for this very luxurious hotel room, too. Normally, all this would make her feel uncomfortable. Like he was throwing his money around, trying to impress her. Like he thought she couldn’t carry her own weight. That was why she had always insisted on paying him back when he bought her coffee. Felicity Smoak stood on her own two feet. 

But . . . it was nice to feel this pampered. And she knew Oliver’s heart was in the right place. He wanted to make the start of the tour a good one. He had made sure of that on the plane last night, as they nibbled on a light dinner. Reassuring her that he had only gone ‘overboard’, in her words, while they were in New York, and that everything else was as she had arranged.

Honestly . . . he had looked so nervous, so concerned about how she’d react to these surprises, and so determined that she knew he understood her perspective, her misgivings had been immediately set aside. It made her want to beep his nose and tell him he was adorable--and also wrap her arms around him and kiss him. 

Felicity threw an arm over her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling even as her cheeks went pink. She had hugged Oliver. It was just a heat of the moment type of thing, because she was so caught up in the excitement of going on tour, of being with Oliver, of getting to fly in a freaking private jet, that she was hugging him before she even realized what she was doing. 

But then she did, when she felt just how amazing his body was. Because . . . _damn_. It wasn’t just his shoulders and arms that were impressive. His whole torso felt like it was solid muscle--like he was a mountain that couldn’t be moved. She had felt butterflies in her stomach as her mind came up with several crisp, vivid images of how those muscles would feel against her, without coats and other clothing between them. 

That was what made her step back. The way her body had reacted, she needed to put some space between them and get her bearings. After the heat that came off him in waves--how was he so warm?--the cold air was a shock to her system. But it let her recover, even with babbling about the tackle hug and Oliver’s utter amusement at the term. 

And when she told him she appreciated what he had done, the look on his face . . . well, the cold air didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

With another sigh--this one more thoughtful--Felicity pulled herself off the bed and went to her oversized bag, rummaging through it. Her beloved but ancient tablet had run out of charge in the late morning--she really needed to figure out which of the newly-announced-at-CES tablets would be the replacement. Spending the day without her tablet and having to squint at the tiny screen on her phone had given her a headache. Since Oliver had made dinner plans for them, she was hoping a nap and a shower would help relieve her eye strain. 

Grabbing her tablet and charger, she plugged it in before stretching a little. She set the alarm on her phone, kicked off her shoes and set her glasses down on the nightstand before pulling back the covers on the bed. It was all she could do not to groan with pleasure when she slid between the sheets, marveling at the high thread count. 

“Mmm,” she said happily, closing her eyes and relaxing back against the pillows.

Even though she was wrapped up in softness and warmth, her brain wouldn’t fully shut off. But Felicity just let herself drift along in a doze, not really caring where her thoughts went. She had discovered a long time ago that if she couldn’t sleep, this kind of napping was good enough to keep her going. It was how she had been able to finish her senior year at MIT while writing her first book, when sleep was at a premium. 

Today had gone so well, too. The tour would kick off tomorrow night, with both her and Oliver speaking and signing at an uptown Barnes & Noble. The following two days would see smaller events at various indie bookstores around the city, before the tour commenced in earnest with their next stop. Then it would be a whirl of twenty-four more cities in thirty days, ending in Starling City.

It would be good. Challenging. Even if the next-to-last stop was Las Vegas, which meant there was every possibility Oliver would meet her mother. Because there was no way that Donna Smoak would miss Felicity’s signing. 

Rolling over, Felicity curled up against the pillows and batted away those thoughts. She had nearly a month before she’d have to consider her mother and Oliver interacting. There was plenty of time to worry about that. For now, she was just going to enjoy her nap, take a shower, and get ready for dinner with Oliver. 

And that sent her mind off into a wildly impractical daydream about Oliver, herself, and chocolate-covered strawberries that was too sappy even for a romance novel. Felicity’s eyes popped open when she realized what she was imagining, feeling her face go red. So maybe bed was the wrong place for her right now. 

The alarm was set to go off in ten minutes, so Felicity pushed aside the covers and got up. Sara had recommended she do yoga during the tour, so she awkwardly did a few downward dogs, feeling the stretch in her calves and back. A quick check on her tablet showed it had charged partway, so Felicity turned it on, setting it to download her emails and Facebook messages while she showered. 

Like everything else in this room, the shower was ridiculously lavish. Yeah, it didn’t get her any cleaner than the tiny little shower enclosure in her bathroom at home--but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable, she thought with a grin. 

There was even a docking station, complete with iPod, in the bathroom!

Felicity hummed along with the eighties playlist she had selected on the iPod, even dancing a little as she dried her hair and applied lotion. With one of the ultra-fluffy robes wrapped around herself, Felicity went to her tablet to see what had happened in the world during the last eight hours, before she got dressed. 

And what she found made her mouth drop open in shock.

“What--how . . .?” she spluttered to herself, before pressing the tablet to her chest and darting out of her room. Her mind was in a complete whirl and only one thing registered. She had to talk to Oliver. 

He was in the room next to hers--the smile as he looked at her when they stood in front of their respective rooms, unlocking the doors, was burned into her memory--so she padded along the soft carpet and knocked loudly on the door. 

“Oliver?” she called out, hearing a slightly-frantic note in her voice. She was probably--no, she was definitely overreacting, she knew, but this--all these websites--what would people think? What would _his family_ think? And _her mother_?

Felicity balled her fist up and banged on the door once. “Oliver!” 

No sooner had she finished saying his name a second time than the door opened. “Felicity?” Oliver asked, sounding confused and worried. 

But Felicity couldn’t really come up with an answer for him. In fact, her fist was still lifted in the air, ready to pound on a door that wasn’t there. 

Because Oliver wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was standing in front of her shirtless and she was not prepared for what she was seeing. 

XXX

Just Jared, March 17, 2014  
 **Oliver Queen On An Actual Runway**

People Weekly, March 17, 2014  
 **A New Romance for Ollie?**

Us Weekly, March 17, 2014  
 **Mystery Blonde with Ollie Queen!**

It’s been too long since we had anything good on Starling City’s hottest son, Oliver Queen. Imagine our delight when we got these photos of Ollie, outside his company jet and getting hugged by quite the lovely nerd. Note how the well-renowned playboy is just standing there and not making a move!

If you like romance, though, just check out the heart eyes on Ollie before he leads his new lady love onto the jet. We guess smart _is_ sexy! But who’s the woman? Our sources say it’s Felicity Smoak, well-known author and fellow Starling City resident. The same Felicity Smoak who’s kicking off a book tour with Ollie this week and has been seen with Mr. Queen in a certain coffee shop in Starling City quite frequently over the last year.

Starling City, looks like your Prince Charming may be off the market, because he’s definitely found his Cinderella. 

End, Chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let y’all know that unfortunately, I won’t be posting next Monday, since I’m spending this weekend at Disney World, participating in the Disney Princess Half Marathon. If you’ve been reading Between Love and Skate, there will be chapters of that posted through Thursday. Without further ado, on with the story!

Rolling his shoulders a little, Oliver pushed himself to his feet. There wasn’t enough time for him to do a full workout tonight, even if he wanted to face the curious eyes in the hotel gym. So a variety of pushups, situps and other exercises would be enough. 

At least the workout had burned off some of his exhaustion. Today had been a long day, full of newspaper and TV interviews to build interest for the tour. It had been more grueling than he had expected, even with his experience with the press. Because it was answering the same questions over and over--not just for a half hour, but for several hours. 

The only thing that kept it from being a completely tedious slog was Felicity. Getting to chat with her during down time, watching her answer questions in her quirky, charming way . . . 

Smiling a little to himself, Oliver went into the bathroom to start the shower. While the water got hot, he checked his face in the mirror. Rubbing a hand over the stubble and judging that he could wait a day before trimming it, he started undressing. 

He had just opened the door to step inside the shower when he heard a knock on the hotel room door, followed by a voice calling his name. A voice that sounded like Felicity--an upset Felicity. 

Oliver snatched up his cargo pants and pulled them on, hurrying to the door as soon as he could. A fist pounded on the door and Felicity called out, “Oliver!” 

She sounded more than upset. She sounded scared. His blood raced and all he could think about was making sure she was okay. So without pausing to grab a shirt, he opened the door. “Felicity?” he asked, taking a step towards her. 

Her fist was still raised, but what drew his attention was her face. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses and her cheeks were pink and--was she _panting_? 

His eyebrows drew together as he tried to figure out what was going on with her. “Felicity?” he repeated, lightly touching her shoulder. 

“You--shirtless!” she said, jumping a little at his touch before squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry, I--I just wasn’t expecting that. All . . . that.” 

_Oh, shit_. His scars. She must--Oliver swallowed and took a step back from her. “Just a minute,” he said, his voice thick, going back into his room to put on a shirt. 

Damn it, he hadn’t wanted her to find out like this. Not that anyone knew that much about his  
scars--Digg knew about a few of them and had been there for the newest ones--but what could Felicity be thinking right now? She had to be repulsed. Or she pitied him. And Oliver didn’t want revulsion or pity from Felicity. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, not missing how her eyes leaped to meet his, her cheeks still flushed. 

And . . . she was wearing a robe. 

Why was she coming to his room in just a robe? And what was she wearing underneath it?

Giving his head a shake, he asked lamely, “Um, where’s the fire?” 

“Huh?” Felicity asked, before she took a deep breath. “Okay, I came here for a reason--not a fire, thank God--but first--I have to say, Oliver . . . wow.” 

_Wow_? What did that mean? He blinked at her. “Wow?” he repeated, feeling utterly lost.

“You! With--with the abs and the pecs and everything!” Felicity said, waving her hand around in the air. “Wow.” 

She . . . she was acting all shocked and speechless because of his body? Not the scars?

He gripped the door handle, needing something to hold on to. Because that was the last thing he had expected Felicity to see when she looked at him. 

“I--I thought you had noticed--other things,” he stuttered out, feeling strangely vulnerable.

Felicity gazed at him, a look of sympathy and support on her face. “The scars?” He confirmed her words with a small nod and she stepped forward, resting a hand on his arm. “I saw those, too, Oliver. But . . . they were the second thing I noticed.”

Her face was still a little flushed and her eyes were so blue and she was so close . . . 

Oliver knew he shouldn’t do it. But it was unconscious, how his eyes flicked down to her lips before looking back at her eyes. It was a mixed signal, it was a bad idea, it was the wrong time to be thinking about this . . . 

But it was getting harder to come up with reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her. 

_She’s your friend and she knows you don’t know how you feel. If you kiss her, she might think you don’t mean it._

Today, the voice in his head sounded like Diggle. Wise and slightly amused, but very, very serious. And the voice was right.

Straightening up, Oliver took a small step back, moving aside. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what’s going on?” 

“Right,” she said, her breath escaping her in a whoosh. “What I came to tell you. What made me run out of my room in a robe . . . and without my key.” She groaned, letting her head tip back as she stepped into his room. “I’m a genius, really.” 

He couldn’t help chuckling a little as he closed the door behind her. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“What, that I’m a genius? Or my very non-genius-like actions?” Felicity said, flashing a small smile at him over her shoulder, before she took a seat on one of the couches in the sitting area.

“The non-genius part,” he said, easing down on the couch across from her. 

“Thanks,” she said, lowering her tablet into her lap and swiping across its surface. “So . . . last night, at the airport? There were photographers there.” 

Oliver nodded. “Yeah, I remembered seeing a few, but they kept pretty far back.” 

With a harrumph, Felicity turned her tablet towards him. “Not far enough.” 

Leaning forward, Oliver felt his lips twist into a half-frown. Felicity was right: even with the foggy conditions and the distance, the photographers had managed to capture them, at the moment when Felicity had hugged him. 

With a flick of her finger, Felicity scrolled down, showing him a few other shots. They were less damning than the hug, but the intimacy between them oozed from every photo. 

And as he looked at them, Oliver liked it. It wasn’t something he wanted, his private life splashed across gossip websites and magazines. But he was Oliver Queen: he would always attract attention. But . . . but the photos of them, especially the one where her hands gesturing as she spoke and him listening, were good ones. He liked seeing the connection that existed between them, seeing physical evidence of it. 

Lifting his eyes to Felicity, he saw she was chewing on her lower lip. “So what’s the problem?” Oliver asked, curious to see just what was bothering her about this. 

She took a long moment to reply, her eyes distant. “I . . . I don’t like the idea of people making judgments about me and you based off some privacy-invading photographs.” Felicity lowered her tablet and took a deep breath. “And attracting attention from the paparazzi . . . it makes me nervous. Because this kind of thing started happening when _Treehouse_ was getting a lot of buzz, and--” She pressed her lips together and Oliver put the pieces together.

It made her think about the attack. 

Without conscious thought, Oliver got up and sat beside her, resting a hand on her back. “Hey,” he said softly, trying to gently pull her out of her memories. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Felicity. You’re safe.” 

Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she took a few deep breaths, then she nodded. “Okay. I’m okay.” 

“Why don’t we skip dinner?” Oliver asked, gazing at her. “We could get some room service . . .” 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I’m okay, really.” 

“Well, at this point,” he said, looking at the clock, “we only have a half hour until our reservation, and neither of us are exactly dressed for Gramercy Tavern. And you’re locked out of your room.” 

Felicity sighed and leaned back against the couch. “I’m sorry--”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Oliver said quickly. “This way, we can take all the time we need to talk about the pictures.” 

When she nodded her head and gave him a small smile, Oliver smiled back at her. He got up and picked up the room service menu, holding it out to her. “I’ll call down to the front desk and ask them to send up a new key for you.” 

She took the menu, but stopped him from moving away by grabbing his hand. “Thank you, Oliver.”

Her fingers held on to his hand so tightly. She was stronger than she realized, Oliver thought. But he didn’t want to embarrass her by telling her that. Not now. So he just nodded and gestured to the menu. “Anything you want, okay?” 

“Ooh, those are dangerous words, Queen,” she said, opening up the menu and running her eyes over it.

And he had to laugh at her teasing attempt to make him worry about running up a large bill, when she really could have anything she wanted.

XXX

Felicity leaned back against the wall of the elevator, closing her eyes. “Would you think less of me if I took my heels off and walked to my room barefoot?”

“Only if you object to my tie coming off,” Oliver said, his voice equally tired. “I feel like it’s strangling me.” 

Opening her eyes, she looked at him curiously. “Really?” 

He nodded, a sour look on his face. “Remember the shirt I was wearing? The one that ended up with my coffee on it thanks to that really excited fan?”

“Which is a shame, because it was good coffee. But that’s not important,” Felicity said. 

“Isabel got me a new one, but she bought one with a collar that’s too small, and then she said I’d look sloppy if I loosened my tie and undid the top button,” Oliver said, doing what he had clearly been itching to do all night. 

“She’s certainly hung up on image,” Felicity said, stepping out of her shoes and letting out a soft, grateful moan. “Ohhh, why did I only bring heels for this trip?” 

Then she wished she had held back that moan, because she could feel Oliver’s eyes on her and her cheeks felt hot. God, her slip-ups and unconscious innuendos were getting out of control. But she just couldn’t help it. Not since last week, when she had seen Oliver shirtless. 

Because if hugging him was really good, seeing what was under his shirt was amazing. And a little heart-breaking. She hadn’t been able to stop admiring his physique--the broad shoulders, the ridges of his abdomen, the way his waist and hips angled in a way that drew her eyes down--even as she grasped the reality of what his five years away had done to him. 

Scars. Burns. Even teeth marks. How had he survived all that? How had he kept living, kept himself from giving in to the pain and uncertainty of trying to live? She didn’t know. She hoped he might be willing someday to tell her about it, if only because she wanted him to know that he didn’t have to hold it all in. He didn’t have to protect her like that. If sharing his past made it easier for him to carry his burden, she would gladly listen, even though she knew it would break her heart. 

Honestly, focusing so much on what Oliver looked like was starting to make her feel guilty. It wasn’t like she was in love with his face . . . although he certainly had a gorgeous one. No, her feelings came from how she felt about _him_. She wondered if maybe she didn’t feel what she thought she felt--if maybe it was just passing lust--

No. No, she might not have ever been in love before, at least not like this, but what she felt for Oliver was just so big, so all-encompassing, it had to be love. Because when she was with him, she felt like the real Felicity. Like she didn’t have to wear a mask--like she didn’t need to. That just being herself was more than enough. 

“Earth to Felicity.” 

Oliver’s voice had that amused tone he only seemed to get with her. She looked around, realizing that while she was lost in thought, the elevator had reached their floor and Oliver was holding the door open for her. 

Snatching up her heels, she quickly stepped out of the elevator. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. 

“It’s okay,” he said with a grin. “You want to go out for dinner? I figured since it’s Boston, you’d want to go to the places you used to go to.” 

“You thought right,” Felicity said, beaming at him. “Give me a half hour and I’ll be ready to go. What’s your pleasure?” 

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought his eyes darkened a little. Her breath caught when he leaned in towards her, his voice low as he said, “Surprise me.”

“O-okay,” she said, looking up at him.

He smiled and leaned back. “Half hour,” he said, before turning and walking to his room. 

Felicity waited until he was in his room before slumping back against her door, catching her breath. It was completely unfair what he could do to her, just by getting close and speaking in that low, sexy voice. 

For that, she was half-tempted to take him to Desi Dhaba and trick him into ordering the spiciest dish on the menu. Luckily for him, she felt like something more laid-back and casual tonight, so she had been leaning towards the Asgard Pub. Good bar food and a name that made her think of Thor: it was a win-win for her. 

Stepping into her room, Felicity dropped her heels and opened her suitcase. It was still pretty cold in Boston for late March, so she would want to bundle up. With limited choices, that left her with her one pair of jeans, a thick cranberry sweater, and a pair of heeled boots. But she liked the way the clothes looked together, so she changed and then pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, letting her hair hang around her face in soft waves.

It was a relief to have her hair loose--she had been wearing it in a ponytail so much, there was getting to be a permanent kink where the hair band went. But she wanted to downplay her looks a little bit, and a ponytail was great for that. She still felt a little bit spooked by what happened at the start of the tour: the photographs, the publicity, all of it. Even though all the signings and appearances had gone perfectly so far, she wasn’t able to fully relax--not just yet. 

Certainly not with Isabel Rochev tagging along from New York to Boston. Oliver’s agent had a reputation of being tough-minded, an excellent negotiator, and completely invested in her clients. Seeing her in action, Felicity would agree. But Isabel was also so . . . cold. So serious. She put Felicity on edge.

The only way she had been able to relax at all was thanks to Oliver. He seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to how she was feeling, and he always found a way to steady her when she felt shaky. Whether it was passing her a bottle of water, leaning over to whisper a joke in her ear, or running interference for her so she could have a moment to breathe, he just knew what to do. 

She was a bit surprised that he wasn’t more overbearing, honestly. But so far, he had seemed like he was letting her set her own boundaries in terms of what kind of help she would accept, and he hadn’t crossed the line. Which was a relief. The last thing she wanted, with the rumors already out there about them--the rumors that kept popping up online and that she saw thanks to the alerts she had set--was for fuel to be added to the fire. And Oliver beating up an intimidating “fan” for her would definitely dump a forest on a tiny little spark. 

A quick check of her phone showed it was time to meet Oliver. She was picking up her coat and bag on the way to the door when she heard a knock. Smiling, she pulled the door open. “Hey.” 

Already wearing his black coat, his hands sunk in its pockets, Oliver looked all male-model gorgeous. But she didn’t miss how he quickly ran his eyes over her as she pulled on her coat. “Hey. You look great.” 

Felicity smiled, ducking her head a little to hide how pleased she was. “Thanks,” she said, buttoning up her coat. “Do you have a hat?” 

He shook his head. “Won’t need one.” 

“You say that now . . .” Felicity said, pulling a gray knit cap out of the pocket of her purple coat. “But when the wind starts whipping in off the Charles, you’ll wish you had one.”

“I think I’ll survive,” he said, smiling softly at her. “So where are we going?” 

“How do you feel about pub food?” she asked, tugging her hat on as they stepped onto the elevator. 

His hand lightly settled against her back. “I feel good about it.” 

“G-great,” she said, feeling the same flutter at him touching her. It seemed like he had gotten more comfortable with physical contact, ever since they had made up their disagreement. Or maybe it was just because they were now interacting with each other without a table between them. She didn’t know. But . . . it was nice. To feel Oliver’s hand rest on her back when they were walking together, for him to brush against her hand or her shoulder to gain her attention. By now, she should be getting used to it, but that hadn’t happened yet. 

“Are you happy to be back here?” he asked, drawing her out of her thoughts. “In Boston, I mean.” 

She nodded, smiling at Oliver. “I have a lot of great memories from here. From my very first day, when I flew into Logan and was trying to get to Cambridge. I got so completely lost on the T--first I was on the wrong line, then I went the wrong way and ended up in Braintree. Which is the end of the line, by the way.” 

“Well, Vegas doesn’t exactly have public transportation, right?” he asked, chuckling as they walked off the elevator and towards the hotel exit. “So it’s not like you had a lot of experience with it.” 

“You remembered I grew up in Vegas?” Felicity asked, stopping to look up at Oliver in surprise. 

That was something she had let slip so long ago--when he had asked her out for coffee the first time, after her book signing. Back when they barely knew each other. And he had remembered? 

Oliver looked at her, his brows knit in confusion. “Of course I remembered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. Feeling utterly amazed at his memory--and wondering just what she had said over the last year, what she might have given away without even realizing it. What he already knew about her. 

“Oh?” he asked, still looking confused.

“Just . . . oh.” She started walking and tried to sound cheerful and upbeat. “I’m starving. How about you? You don’t want to see me get too hungry. I hate the word ‘hangry’ but it does kind of describe me.” 

And until they were in the cab, she kept up the stream of chatter, just long enough for her to get herself under control. 

XXX

Boston Herald, March 21, 2014  
 **Smoak Presents Alumni Lecture at MIT**

Boston Globe, March 21, 2014  
 **On Tonight**

\--At the Harvard Book Store: speakings and signings by Oliver Queen ( _Journeys_ ) and Felicity Smoak ( _This and That_ ). 7pm.

Pittsburgh Gazette, March 22, 2014  
 **Queen and Smoak Fill the Penguin Bookshop**

WPVI Philadelphia Breakfast with the Arts, March 23, 2014

**Anchor** : We’re thrilled to welcome two authors to our show this Sunday: Felicity Smoak, author of the forthcoming _This and That_ , and Oliver Queen, whose second book, _Journeys_ , will be published in May.

Baltimore Sun, March 23, 2014  
 **This Week**

\--At the Power Plant Barnes & Noble on Tuesday, March 25: Book signing with Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen

WRC Washington News at Eleven, March 26, 2014

**Anchor** : At Politics & Prose tonight, authors Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen entered into a lively debate about technology and its impact on modern society. 

Richmond Times-Dispatch, March 27, 2014  
 **Local Author Event: Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak**

Tickets are still available for the signings by Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, tonight at the Fountain Bookstore. 

Raleigh Telegram, March 29, 2014  
 **Talking with . . . Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak**

We asked Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, authors and friends, five questions each to see how well they knew each other. See how they did!

XXX

“Thank you for coming,” Oliver said, handing the autographed book across the table to the elderly man. “I hope you enjoy it.” 

“I’m sure I will. Your speech was very fine,” the man said with a nod. “Keep up the good work.” 

The old man reminded him a bit of his grandfather Dearden, who had died when Oliver was eight. A man who was gruff and taciturn, but also very kind. So Oliver smiled a little and nodded back. “I’ll do my best, sir.” 

“Good man,” he said, before stepping along to speak with Felicity--who had been listening and watching, a soft smile on her face. 

Oliver felt his smile shift and grow bigger for Felicity, allowing himself a moment to breathe, before he turned to greet the next fan in line. 

After twelve days and eight cities, the reality of an author tour were settling in. Namely, that it was a hell of a lot of work. The travel alone was daunting, taking late night or early morning flights from one city to the next. At least the Philadelphia-Baltimore-DC-Richmond leg had been on the train, giving them something different. And letting Felicity rhapsodize about how great train travel was. 

But even more consuming than the travel was the fan interaction. It wasn’t like it was when he was promoting _The Frat Boy Way_ , when he bullshitted his way through appearances--and used his signings as a way to pick up women. Now that it mattered, he wanted to do this right. And that meant being focused on each fan who approached him, giving them as much of his time as he could, and being present in the conversation. Trying not to fall into making small talk or flirting, but having a give-and-take.

Felicity made it look easy. She seemed to know when to listen when someone told her a story, and there was never any doubt that she was really listening. Or she knew if she should be the one to talk, sharing little details and snippets about writing or asking the fan questions about themselves, about what they liked to read or what kind of technology they used. 

It impressed him so damn much. Because after what happened to her, no one would blame Felicity for becoming a hermit, for seeing only the bad in the world. But she had refused to let that happen. Even when she was dealing with a fan who had an axe to grind or argued with her about her positions, she was always polite if she couldn’t be friendly. But she really came to life with the women who also worked in tech fields. Seeing Felicity’s face light up, hearing her support for those women and being their cheerleader--he was convinced she was making a difference, even though she denied it. 

“It’d be wonderful if one person could change things. If I could rally everyone to change, thanks to my words. But it doesn’t work like that, I think. Big, flashy, dramatic acts are like a boulder dropping into a lake: they make a big splash but they don’t last. The only way the water actually changes anything is with long, sustained, tiny ripples,” Felicity had explained last night at dinner, her hands gesturing between them, somehow managing to keep a grip on the piece of sushi she had lifted with her chopsticks. 

Oliver had grinned at her. “If you’re not careful, your sushi is gonna be the boulder in the lake of soy sauce.” 

Her cheeks had gone pink but she had given him a mock-glare. “Very funny,” she said before biting into her sushi. 

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t drop it,” he said before getting serious. “I agree with you, but I think you’re selling yourself short.” 

She had chewed slowly, her eyes absent-mindedly resting on him as she thought up a response. And Oliver was hit with a sudden burst of want. Not desire in a sexual sense, but more of a craving. To have this all the time: sharing dinner with Felicity, talking to her, sharing parts of their day and discovering how she thought. 

Even as he signed books and chatted with fans, trying to really communicate instead of falling back on cliched phrases, Oliver couldn’t help the random odd thoughts he had of Felicity. It was getting to the point where he stopped trying to prevent them from popping into his head. Because something about Felicity just disarmed him. Took down his walls and made him act instinctively. Normally, he didn’t like to act on instinct--at least, not when he wasn’t putting arrows into people. It was too risky to lose control when he was just Oliver Queen. But with Felicity . . . he felt safe. 

“Hey, Oliver, have you seen my bag?” 

Felicity’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Just her voice, because she had pushed her chair back and ducked under the table. 

Giving the fan in front of him a quick smile, Oliver bent down and lifted the tablecloth to look at Felicity. “What’s wrong?” 

“Argh, I can’t find my bag and I need one of my contact cards--I knew I should have gone with the pink bag and not the black . . .” Her voice was a bit muffled, thanks to her position, and Oliver couldn’t help grinning. Everything she did just seemed adorable to him.

Running his eyes around the dark area underneath the table, he spotted Felicity’s bag towards the front edge of the table. With how Felicity kept tapping her feet, crossing and recrossing her legs, and generally being a fidgeter while signing for fans, the bag had probably migrated there due to her movements. “I see it--I’ve got it,” he said, sliding off his chair to reach forward. 

“Oh, I can get it--the tablecloth means I wouldn’t flash anyone by getting down on the floor--but you’re already there,” Felicity said. 

Yeah, he was there, but now he needed a moment. Because Felicity talking about flashing people and getting on the floor . . . his mind had put those two things together in an image that was very vivid. One that took the reality of Felicity and placed her in a fantasy setting worthy of ‘Dear Playboy . . . ‘ 

This was the downside of giving in to his instincts when it came to Felicity. 

Snatching up her tote, Oliver moved out from under the table and back in his chair without straightening to a standing position. “Here’s your bag,” he said, passing it to Felicity before turning back to the fan in front of him. The fan who was looking at him very curiously. 

“Hi,” Oliver said, trying to act normally. “Who can I sign the book to?” 

“Are you okay? Your face is pretty flushed,” asked the fan, a sweet-looking woman in her forties.

He pasted on a smile. “Just fine. Thank you for coming out.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world--your book sounds so interesting!” The fan passed him her copy of his book, a Post-It note on the cover with the name ‘Bridget’ on it. “I wasn’t sure if there would be copies available from the article in the paper, but I didn’t care, I still wanted to come and see you and Felicity.” 

“Thank you so much for that,” Oliver said, opening the book to sign it. “We got these advanced reader’s copies just for the tour. Even I hadn’t seen them before the first signing.” 

“Have you read it yet, Felicity?” Bridget asked, handing Felicity the chapbook for _This and That_ , as she moved to stand in-between them on her side of the table. 

Oliver tensed, glancing at Felicity. Wondering how she would answer that question. 

“Not yet, but I’m looking forward to it.” Felicity signed her name with a flourish and then leaned forward to speak in a low, conspiratorial tone with Bridget. “He asked me to wait until I could read the published version. I think he feels shy about it.” 

“Awww!” Bridget said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “How sweet.” 

Felicity looked back at Oliver and smiled. “Yeah, it is sweet.” Felicity said goodbye to Bridget and greeted her next fan, and Oliver did the same, even as he wondered if Felicity had just been saying that. And wondering if he should let her read his book. 

But she was right, although the word ‘shy’ had probably never been applied to him before. The advanced reader copies had been printed before he had worked out who to dedicate the book to--actually, it was more he hadn’t figured out how he would dedicate it to Felicity. What words to use, how much of himself to reveal. 

It was something he had been working on since before the tour started. And he was pretty sure he had something figured out. At least, he had given the dedication to Isabel before she left Boston, one that caused her to raise her eyebrows as she read it. But she had just nodded and accepted it, letting him know that the real copies of his book would probably be ready by the end of the tour. 

That was why he wanted to Felicity to wait. So she could see the dedication first, before she started reading. Because this book . . . it had become a part of him, and oddly enough, he was more worried about his friends and family reading it than he was for complete strangers.

And Felicity’s potential reaction made him worry the most.

XXX

If Oliver wasn’t Oliver, she would have called him on his secrecy about his book long before now. Well, if he wasn’t himself and she wasn’t herself. 

Giving her head a shake at that sentence, Felicity waited for Oliver to meet her in the lobby of their hotel for breakfast. Ever since the fan at last night’s signing, the one who asked if she had read Oliver’s book, Felicity had been turning over in her mind why she hadn’t made more of an issue over this. 

She had asked him to be honest. She wanted Oliver to tell her the truth instead of hiding or trying to make himself appear as anything other than himself. But asking her to hold off on reading his book until it was published in hardcover was the second time he had basically kept a secret from her. 

As an author, she could understand his hesitancy to share his work. And last night on the phone, Sara had pointed out that since Felicity had encouraged him to write, Oliver might feel especially nervous for her to read his book. 

_“Because what if you hate it? What if you stop thinking he’s a good writer? That would be a pretty big blow. I mean, if the positions were reversed, you’d feel crushed,” Sara said._

_“That’s true . . .” Felicity admitted. “But doesn’t that speak badly about our--our friendship, if he thinks I wouldn’t tell him nicely if I didn’t like it?”_

_Sara snorted. “Friendship? That’s an understatement.” Felicity opened her mouth to protest, but Sara barreled ahead, returning to the subject at hand. “Felicity, if Ollie’s nervous about this--nervous enough to ask you to not read his book--and if you are as good of friends as you say, you kinda have to let him set the pace on this one.”_

_Groaning, Felicity flopped back against her pillows. “If I knew you were going to take his side, I would have called my mother.”_

_“I’m not taking Ollie’s side. I’m just giving you another perspective, so you can think this over. Make sure you don’t screw things up when everything’s going so well.”_

Her best friend had a point: things _were_ going well with Oliver. But for Sara, Oliver’s nervousness about his book was natural and understandable. Not that it wasn’t to Felicity, too, but when put in the context of Oliver buying the _Tattler_ and not telling her . . . well, it made things look different.

Pacing slowly, Felicity debated what she should do. Maybe she had things wrong: maybe Oliver had nothing to do with his mother’s company buying the _Tattler_. Or maybe she was being a little too egotistical in thinking that this had anything to do with her. Okay, a lot egotistical.

But she just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a connection. The timing was just too convenient. And the way the _Tattler_ had done an about-face in its publishing philosophy, almost immediately going from a tabloid to something more community-focused . . . that seemed like something Oliver would do. He had talked a lot about how he hoped the Glades would recover from the earthquake, mentioned the charity projects that he personally and quietly supported in Starling City.

She wasn’t sure what to do. But Felicity wanted to find a way to ask Oliver about this. Just to reassure herself. She couldn’t fault him for his actions: if she was a billionaire, she might have done the same thing. But if she did, Felicity thought she would have talked to Oliver, because he was affected by the _Tattler_ and should know what she was doing.

Turning to make another lap of the lobby, Felicity nearly walked right into Oliver. His hands shot out to steady her shoulders and a small grin appeared on his face. “Easy there,” he said. 

“If you weren’t right on top of me, I would have been fine,” Felicity snarked. But when Oliver’s smile faded a little, the context of her words sunk in and she sighed. “My brain always comes up with the worst way to say things.” 

“I . . . I wouldn’t say that,” Oliver said, his voice low. He let go of her shoulders and stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Are you ready for breakfast?” 

If there was food in her mouth, she couldn’t make innuendos that turned everything awkward. So Felicity nodded quickly. “There’s a diner just down the street, according to the concierge.” 

“Okay,” Oliver said, falling into step with her as they walked out of the hotel. 

For someone so tall, Oliver knew how to walk with someone, Felicity thought idly. She didn’t feel like she was risking a sprained ankle or broken heel if she tried to keep up with him, because he modified his speed automatically so they could walk at the same pace. 

A buzz made them both check their phones. Oliver looked at the screen, sighed, and put the phone away. 

“Everything okay?” she asked, looking up at him.

“It’s Isabel,” he said. “I . . . I think I made a mistake, having her be my agent.” 

Felicity looked up at him. “Why do you think so?” 

“There’s a lot of reasons, but mostly--she treats me like an idiot.”

He said it with that dry humor of his: a little self-deprecating, a little ironic. But she could tell that this was bothering him. 

“And that’s different from how Digg, or Tommy, or me, treat you like an idiot?” she asked, giving him a cheeky smile. 

“Walked right into that one,” Oliver said, looking at his feet with a smile. 

“Yep,” she said, before resting her hand on his arm. “But, we will go have a diner breakfast, which everyone knows is the best kind of breakfast, and you’ll tell me about it and maybe I can help.” 

With a nod and a smile, Oliver agreed and they walked a bit faster towards the diner in the chilly air. But Felicity kept her hand on his arm. Because . . . how was his arm so warm even through his coat? Felicity didn’t know. But it felt nice, and if he could touch her, why couldn’t she touch him?

And even though it was such a slippery slope to have thoughts like that, Felicity stayed in contact with him until they slid into a booth.

Having a table between them took her back to all those coffees at Jitters, and she smiled as she flipped through the menu. She glanced up at Oliver to ask him what he was thinking of ordering, only to see that he wasn’t looking at his menu--he was looking at her. Gazing, _again_ , like he had from nearly the beginning of their friendship. 

One day, she would ask him why he did that. Why he seemed to like to look at her so much. 

Adjusting her glasses, Felicity tried to act normal. “So, are you going to join me in the neverending short-stack?” 

“Nope,” Oliver said easily. “And you shouldn’t have it, either. All those carbs, you’ll crash by one o’clock.” 

“What a way to go, though: death by fluffy, delicious pancake,” she said dreamily. “But I suppose you’re right, Mr. Egg-White Omelet.” 

“I had chicken and waffles in that place in Richmond, remember. I do indulge sometimes,” he said. 

She did remember. Mostly because he had licked the grease off his fingers, making the simple act of cleaning himself seem very, very dirty. 

“So, um, eggs today, I think,” Felicity said, looking at the menu. “Eggs and sausage.” 

“Sounds good,” Oliver said, giving their waitress a quick smile when she appeared to take their order. 

Once that was done, Felicity took a sip of coffee, added some more sugar, and then looked at Oliver. “So, Isabel?” 

He nodded, wrapping his hands around his mug. “I know I still have a lot to learn about the business, although you definitely fill in the blanks for me,” he began. “But Isabel--she’s like some really bad combination of every person in my life who’s ever thought I was a screw-up. That’s how she treats me.” 

Felicity frowned a little. “That sounds awful. And that’s not how it has to be. Laurel and I, we have a relationship that’s built on trusting each other. She tells me the truth when I need it, and I tell her when I need something from her.”

“I knew Laurel in high school,” Oliver said, meeting her eyes. “We . . . well, we dated. For a really, really short time.” He paused and smiled. “She actually dated Tommy, too, for a month longer than she dated me.” 

“Oh,” Felicity said, leaning back against the booth seat. Of course, she knew Laurel knew Oliver. But she hadn’t realized . . . 

“Yeah, we were all part of the same group, so pretty much everyone ended up dating each other at some point,” Oliver said, his words light. But the way he wasn’t looking away from her--he was concerned about her reaction. And, really . . . it wasn’t a big deal. After all, she never thought about her high school boyfriends now unless they came up somehow when she talked to her mother or Sara. Just like Laurel talked about Oliver occasionally, when it related to whatever she was discussing with Felicity. 

Lifting her mug to her lips, Felicity looked at Oliver over the rim. “So now I know. You and Tommy dated, huh?” 

At first, he looked incredibly confused: his lips slightly pursed and his eyebrows lowered. But then it sunk in and he unleashed his big, beaming smile on her, throwing his head back and letting out a short burst of laughter. “Oh, God, no--can you imagine? We’d be the worst couple ever.” 

Smirking, Felicity sipped her coffee, even as she felt a giddy happiness from her head to her toes. Making Oliver laugh might be the best thing in the world.

XXX

He was hungry, he wasn’t entirely sure what city they were in, and he was so tired of giving the same speech every day. He was sick of answering Isabel’s constant texts and emails, he couldn’t be sure what day it was, and he was always sucking on menthol cough drops in order to keep his voice. 

And he was happy. He, Oliver Queen, was _happy_. 

Thanks to Felicity. 

Glancing over at her as Felicity chatted with the fans that surrounded her, he felt like he got a little shot of strength, just from looking at her. Enough to turn back to the fans who wanted to talk to him, which still surprised him a little. Because Felicity had published several books and had a sterling reputation. He had one really bad book, published seven years ago, and a new book that no one knew much about. Yet people came out to hear him speak, told him they had read about the book online, said how excited they were to read it. 

Sure, some people were here just to gawk at a ‘celebrity,’ but most of them? They were actually interested in his work. 

It made him feel good, too. Like Felicity did. 

The beeping of his phone saved him from looking over at her again, although he grimaced slightly at the prospect of an actual phone call from Isabel. But to his relief, it was Diggle. But then he immediately got worried. Was there something wrong in Starling? Did they need him back? 

Making his apologies, he stepped away, into a corner of the room, and answered his phone. “John?”

“Oliver,” John said. “Stop worrying, man, everything’s fine here.” 

“Can you blame me for thinking that, though?” Oliver asked, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. “You haven’t talked to me since I left Starling.”

“It’s just weird to know we can talk to you--that you’re not all incommunicado on your private, hellish island,” Digg said lightly. 

Oliver sighed a little. “So what’s up?” 

“Just checking in with you. In case you had been thinking about us.” 

From the sound of Digg’s voice, the implication was clear: that Oliver hadn’t been thinking about Starling City, about Digg and Sara and Tommy. And that was . . . perhaps partly true. Because he was discovering that the burden of his mission was heavier than he realized, now that he was letting someone else carry it for a while. And it was making him think about how he could pick it up again. 

He wasn’t sure if he could. Not on his own. Even though he hadn’t been alone for a long time, not since Digg came on board, but knowing that Sara could patrol, with Digg and Tommy’s help, and manage things for a little while--it made his mind start working. Planning.

“Have you discovered anything else about Brother Blood?” Oliver asked, looking around the room and keeping his voice low. 

“Not yet, although we’re getting closer. Tommy’s been trying to see what he can dig up, electronically speaking, but he’s not getting very far,” Digg said. “But Sara has tracked some of his followers, getting help from a few kids in the Glades, so pretty soon we’ll have solid intel.” 

“Tell her to be careful about using civilians,” Oliver said. “Especially kids.” 

Before Digg could reply, Oliver noticed that murmur of conversation in the room had suddenly become muted. Looking up quickly, he realized that everyone’s attention was directed towards where he had last seen Felicity. 

“I gave her the speech,” Digg said, then paused. “Everything okay there?” 

“Yeah--something’s going on, I think,” he said, moving towards the other side of the room to find Felicity. “I’m glad things are good, Digg--I’ll talk to you later.” 

Barely waiting for Digg’s goodbye, Oliver hung up his phone and kept walking through the crowd. At first, he wasn’t sure what was happening: it looked like there was a group of fans around Felicity, just like there had been all night. But then he realized that this group was not made up of fans. 

There were three men and two women, and they had formed a nearly-closed circle around Felicity. All of them were glaring at her, and one of the men was talking to her, his face red and his finger nearly jabbing her in the face. 

Felicity stood tall in her high heels, her hands clasped in front of her. He could tell she was listening to the man, probably hoping that in letting to speak his piece he would be satisfied and leave. But Oliver could see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, could see how tightly she was gripping her hands together.

He didn’t like the look of this. He wanted this to stop. He wanted to defuse the situation, step up behind her and rest a hand on her back before dropping a kiss on her temple and turning to face the man who was speaking, giving him the clear message that Felicity was under Oliver’s protection. 

That she was his. 

Swallowing, Oliver edged a bit closer. As much as he wanted to take care of this, he didn’t want to make it any worse by coming on too strong. Not to mention he didn’t want Felicity to get caught in the crossfire. 

Getting closer, he can hear what the man’s saying. “ . . . it’s women like you that keep men down, women like you that are makin’ this great country lose its way!” 

This was bullshit. Felicity doesn’t have to take it. And Oliver’s done letting her deal with it on her own. 

Oliver stepped forward, standing beside Felicity, and spoke quietly, his voice deep. “Excuse me, but you’re done.” 

The man got even more red in the face and glared at him. “Who the hell are you?” 

“Oliver Queen,” he said, holding a hand out to him. “The guy who had to survive on a deserted island for five years?” 

He held the man’s gaze, using everything he had learned in those five years to intimidate him. To make him cower, to recognize Oliver as the superior male. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other people edging away, looking nervous. He didn’t look at Felicity. To do this, he can’t look at her. 

The man opened his mouth, his chest puffing up even more, but then one of the women put a hand on his arm, giving it a yank. And like that, the man lost his will--and the fight. 

They turned and slinked away, and Oliver immediately turned to Felicity. “Felicity?” he asked quietly, searching her face. 

Showing her the kind of man he’s capable of being--the man he is when he wears the hood--wasn’t something he ever wanted. But it was the only way he knew to protect her. Now that it’s over and the adrenaline was starting to fade, he felt the fear creep in. Because how will she react to seeing that side of himself? More importantly, though--was she okay? 

She’s not looking at him. She’s still standing as she was while the man browbeat her, with her hands clasped. Slowly, Oliver reached out to wrap his hand around hers. Her hands are so small and cold, but she startled and looked at him when he touched her. “Oliver,” she said, taking a shuddering breath. “Oh.” 

He does his best to smile at her. “Hey.” 

And like that, she lets go of her own hands and laced the fingers of one hand through his, and it was like his whole body was on fire. “Oh, that was unpleasant,” she said, squeezing his hand tightly. 

Nodding, he kept looking at her, searching for any signs of a panic attack or anything else that’s making her feel unsteady. She’s breathing in and out slowly, occasionally closing her eyes for a long moment before opening them. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, looking around for the woman from the bookstore who had been managing the event. 

Felicity was uncertain about leaving--he can see it in how she chewed on her lower lip. How she looked around at the people still in the store, the people who are carefully not looking at them. But then, slowly, she nodded.

“Okay,” he said, turning and walking towards the front doors of the shop, keeping his hold on her hand. 

As they approached the doors, the manager reached them and spoke quietly, holding their coats and Felicity’s tote out to them. “I am so sorry for that unfortunate incident, Miss Smoak. I was on the phone with the police when Mr. Queen intervened. Are you all right?” 

“Yes,” Felicity said softly, slowly letting go of Oliver’s hand to pull on her coat. “I--I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just want to go back to our hotel.” 

“I thought you might. I called a cab for you and it should be arriving soon.” 

“Thank you,” Oliver said, pulling on his own coat quickly. Then, without any further delay, he took Felicity’s hand and drew her outside the bookstore, into the chilly night air.

XXX

As soon as they’re outside, Felicity took a few deep breaths, sucking in the fresh air. Feeling it fill her lungs and drive away all the unpleasant smells that were in her nose. 

It helped. As much as the feel of Oliver’s hand holding hers. 

Felicity can feel the weight of his gaze, different from the other times he’s looked at her. No, this is . . . she almost wanted to say possessive. Which can’t be right, but it’s how it felt. 

Turning her head, she tried to smile. “I’m okay.” 

God, he’s so close to her. So focused on her and nothing else. “You’re sure?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face. 

“I’m sure,” she said, hesitantly squeezing his hand and nearly wincing at how hard he squeezed back. “I mean, it wasn’t the way I wanted tonight to end, but--but I held it together.” 

“You did,” he said, smiling at her. There’s pride in his voice, which makes her feel more unsteady than she did when that man was yelling in her face. 

And you know what? He should be proud of her. Just like she’s proud of herself. Because yeah, it was scary and she definitely flashed back to her attack and she was so close to throwing up all over the man’s dirty sneakers, but somehow she managed to stay calm. She thought if she let him vent, he might get it out of his system and leave her alone. Sometimes, people just wanted to be heard. 

But the longer he kept talking, the less the plan seemed to be working. And with him right in her face, she didn’t know what to do. If she stepped back or tried to interrupt him, she didn’t know how he would react. And with the rest of his group surrounding her . . . 

She was ready to make a run for it, when suddenly she knew that Oliver was close. The air just seemed to change, and then he was by her side, engaging with the man. No, not just engaging-- _dominating_ him. Oliver had charisma, yes. There was a power to him. But what he did to that man . . . she had never seen anything like it.

It was intimidating, seeing him do that. Not scary, no. But . . . but intimidating. To see a side of Oliver, a side that he must have used when he was on the island, tapping into that part of himself that kept him alive. 

That was why it wasn’t scary to her. Because whatever he had done to stay alive, to be able to come home, to be here with her . . . that was all that mattered. Of course he hadn’t been trying to survive for her. But in the long run, he was here now and she was so incredibly grateful for that. 

Lifting her eyes to his face, she looked at him. Letting herself gaze at him, lingering on his features like she wished her fingers could. She could tell he wasn’t sure what to think, but he didn’t look away from her. 

“If it wasn’t for you . . . I didn’t know what to do. And you just came and fixed it.” She paused, not wanting to babble at this important moment. “Thank you, Oliver.” 

He looked so shocked. Like he didn’t expect to be thanked. Like he thought she would react differently. “You . . . what?” 

Felicity can’t help laughing. “I’m thanking you. What, were you expecting something else?” 

“Um . . .” he said, “yes?” 

Unable to stop herself, she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, feeling the scars and rough skin, but also feeling the warmth and gentleness, too. And the control. She could imagine how he thought of himself, that he had to keep a leash on himself and not let out the beast inside himself. But she didn’t see him like that. 

But if she told him that, she had a feeling it would just start her mouth moving without her brain’s input. And her mouth was desperate to tell him how she felt. 

“Well, tough, I’m thanking you,” she said, grinning at him. 

Huffing out a laugh, Oliver returned her grin. “Tough? I have no choice but to accept your thanks?” 

“That’s right,” she said, nodding her head vigorously. 

“I see,” he said, his head turning as the cab pulled up at the curb. “I think we need to talk more about this.” 

“You can talk all you want, Oliver, but it’s not going to change anything. I’m thanking you and that’s all there is to say.” 

He nodded, looking very serious except for the quirk of his lips, as he opened the cab door for her. Somehow, he managed to do that, help her in, and slide in next to her, without letting go of her hand. That was talent. 

A relaxed silence filled the cab as they rode back to their hotel. Felicity gazed out the window, trying not to let on how much she liked this. Being quiet with Oliver, holding his hand, feeling connected to him. 

“I . . . I thought you would be afraid of me.” 

The sound of Oliver’s voice was less surprising than what he said. She turned her head quickly, the end of her ponytail actually bouncing against her cheek as she did so. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what, to ask him why. But she pressed her lips together tightly and just looked at him. 

His head was slightly lowered and she felt his thumb stroke once over the back of her hand. “While I was gone . . . I had to do things that changed me. Made me see what I was capable of. It wasn’t pretty, Felicity, but--” He stopped, his jaw tight.

She nodded quickly, trying to show that she understood. He looked at her, his eyes uncertain and shadowed. 

“You don’t have to talk about this, Oliver--you don’t have to explain anything to me, unless you really want to, but not because you’re scared of what I’m thinking. Because you, for five years--I can’t imagine what you did to survive, but, but--” Felicity swallowed, trying to get her thoughts in some kind of order, trying not to spook him. 

“But, whatever you did, it let you come back,” she continued, hearing her voice rise in pitch as she spoke faster, “so--so I’m glad for that reason if nothing else. And tonight, you were able to help me without punching anyone, which I was worried about, I’ll be honest, but you’ve been amazing, and I--thank you.” 

The way he was staring at her made her feel butterflies not just in her stomach, but all over. She had definitely said too much, revealed more than she should have, when he was still trying to figure out how he felt, and this was going to make everything awkward and weird and put too much pressure on Oliver--

Felicity blinked as Oliver slid closer to her. “Oliver?” 

“Yeah?” he asked softly. His eyes were lowered . . . she was pretty sure he was looking at her lips. And as soon as she realized that, she felt her tongue flick out to wet them. _Why_ did she do that?

“Felicity . . .” he said softly. He was close enough that she was sure she had just felt his breath wash over her lips. 

Her heart was pounding and she knew this was a bad idea, because there was no way Oliver meant this, he was just feeling grateful that she didn’t hate him for what he had done--

When his hand lightly touched her chin, angling her face up, Felicity felt her eyes drift shut. She wanted this so badly . . . 

And then the cab stopped, rocking them both forward. Oliver’s hand fell from her chin and his hand loosened from around hers.

“Sorry about that, folks,” the cabbie said. 

Blinking, Felicity opened her eyes and looked forward, seeing that the cab appeared to be stuck in a sudden jam. She stared ahead for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Trying to get a lid on her emotions. 

Because . . . Oliver nearly kissed her. _Oliver Queen had nearly kissed her_ , and it couldn’t mean anything, but--but what if it did? 

When Oliver pulled away from her and moved closer to the door on his side of the cab, Felicity sucked in a breath. She glanced at him quickly, seeing how rigid his shoulders looked. Oh, God. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth in check and not blabbed out all that stuff about him fighting to survive? _Why_?

Pressing her lips together, Felicity sunk back against the seat and turned her head to look out the window. Now the silence was tense and loaded. Now they weren’t holding hands--now they were on completely opposite sides of the cab. 

Now everything felt wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it. How to fix _them_.

End, Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for that cliffhanger, you guys. (Well, only a little.) Please don’t hurt me for making you wait an extra week for the next chapter. But know that with the extra time, it will be awesome.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for the roller coaster? Then buckle up and hang on, because it’s nothing but thrills until the end of the fic, starting with this chapter.

What the hell was he doing? 

They had been so close. So close he thought he could almost hear Felicity’s heart beating as loudly as his own, so close that he could almost see the faintest of freckles across her nose. So close that he almost thought their lips had just barely touched. 

And then the damn cabbie had slammed on the brakes, and they both rocked forward, and he felt her stiffen and he knew it was over. 

He knew the moment was gone. And it made him feel hollowed-out and lost and vulnerable like he never had before, and he could only move away from Felicity as he tried to recover. 

Intellectually, Oliver knew that kissing her after what had happened was not the best idea. She was still upset by her encounter with the asshole at the bookstore, she was feeling grateful for Oliver’s help, she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to realize he was the last man on Earth that she should want to kiss. 

But when he remembered the softness of her voice as she said his name, the way she looked up at him . . . he didn’t know why he wasn’t kissing her. 

Why he wasn’t telling her that he was in love with her. 

Oliver stared out the window. He loved her. Oliver Queen was in love with Felicity Smoak. And he was an idiot for taking this long to realize it. 

Although it wasn’t a realization or an epiphany or a revelation. No, not exactly. This was an admission. Because looking back on it, he was sure he had loved her for a long time. And he was only now ready to accept it. To acknowledge it. 

Ready to tell her. 

But not now. Not tonight, not like this. He didn’t think she would believe him. She would be too self-conscious, all her doubts about herself so close to the surface. Which was crazy, because she was amazing and beautiful and so damn smart and everything he wanted and hadn’t known he needed--

Taking a breath, Oliver pressed his eyes shut. He had to stay calm. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. First and foremost, he had to find a way to defuse the tension. Make her understand that this wasn’t about him not being sure about her. He was sure--he knew she was the one. But this was a case of right girl, wrong time. Their first kiss shouldn’t happen in the back of a cab and the first time he told her how he felt, it shouldn’t come on the heels of a traumatic event. No, Felicity deserved to be wined and dined and romanced. 

And planning a special event like that, something intimate and romantic, would also give him the chance to make sure he had the right words to say. To explain his life to her--his past and his present, while hoping she would be part of his future. To explain he was the Arrow.

Deep down, he had known that was the stumbling block for him. That was what made him struggle with how he felt about Felicity and why he had spent so long trying to figure out what he wanted. Because he couldn’t see how he could have a real relationship with Felicity while lying to her about who he was. She thought she knew what kind of man he was, but she had only seen the nicer parts of him. The kind of man he wished he could be. But there was also the darkness, the damage, the danger. 

If he was going to do this . . . he had to do it knowing that Felicity’s eyes were wide open. Because he didn’t think he could survive losing her if they were together. Whether it was from discovering he had lied to her or from her getting caught in the crossfire as an unwitting victim--it wouldn’t matter how he lost her, but he knew once Felicity was part of his life, he would move heaven and earth to keep her there. 

A large part of him wasn’t sure about telling her. Almost physically recoiled at the idea of letting her know his greatest secret. Because if she knew, it could be--no, would be--dangerous. What if he couldn’t protect her? What if they got sloppy and someone discovered who he was and targeted Felicity? 

But . . . she hadn’t been with him and she had been hurt. 

Oliver turned his head, just enough so he could look at her out of the corner of his eye. So he could see her neck, with that patch of skin that still bore the scars of her attack. Over the year and a half they had been friends, the scar had become slightly less pink, but the uneven texture of her skin remained. It wasn’t soft and smooth like her chin had felt under his fingers, when he had leaned in towards her.

That scar was proof that danger existed whether Felicity was with him or not. And if that was the case . . . maybe he could keep her safe, like he had tonight. 

For a moment, as he watched her, Oliver wanted to slide back towards her. Wrap his arms around her and tell her how he felt, kiss her and love her and never let her go. 

But that would be the old him. Wanting Felicity at all, in fact, felt too much like his selfish Ollie self. So if he was going to do this--if he was going to take the risk--he had to do it knowing that he wasn’t going to screw it up. Or at least, he needed to try and improve his odds. 

The cab pulled up in front of their hotel, making Oliver realize he had been so caught up in thinking about how to tell Felicity that he hadn’t yet figured out what he was going to do about the almost-kiss. How to keep things from getting awkward without revealing too much of what he now knew. 

Felicity opened the door and stepped out of the cab, moving towards the hotel without a backwards glance. Frowning, Oliver pulled out his wallet to pay the cabbie, only for him to wave his hand. “Already taken care of, buddy. G’night.” 

“Thanks,” he said, pushing himself across the seat and out of the cab, hurrying to catch up with Felicity. 

He reached her just as she was stepping onto the elevator. “Felicity, wait--” he said, sliding between the closing doors to stand in front of her. 

And then it was just her and him, standing in an elevator. Felicity’s shoulders were hunched, her hands buried in her coat pockets, and it made his heart feel brittle and fragile at seeing her like this. 

“Oliver,” she said, her voice quiet. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just--let’s just forget it happened.” 

“I . . . I don’t want to do that, Felicity,” he said, wishing he could step closer to her but sensing she needed some space. “It would just make things more awkward then they already are.” 

She frowned, her eyes on the floor of the elevator. 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver started speaking. “Things have been changing between us. We--we’re in a weird place, I know, and it’s because of me, but--but I don’t want to forget what happened.” 

Her eyes lifted to his, her eyebrows drawn together. “Why not?” 

“Because . . . because it happened, and it’s part of our history now, and--and I don’t want to forget anything about you.” 

God, he used to be a playboy. He used to be able to charm any woman, get her to do whatever he wanted. He knew exactly what to say. But with Felicity, his tongue felt thick and his brain felt fuzzy. But it was because Felicity mattered. And because he wasn’t Ollie anymore. 

Felicity looked at him for a long moment, still looking confused, and then, to his surprise, she nodded slowly. “Okay, we don’t forget it . . . but what do we do now? We almost kissed, Oliver.” 

Hearing her say it like that made his heart clench in his chest. Because he knew she was trying to sound matter-of-fact and unaffected. But he could hear the slightest touch of longing, of wistfulness, in her voice. And that hit him in that vulnerable part of himself that only Felicity seemed to reach. 

“We . . . we see if something like tonight happens again and if something different happens that time,” he said slowly, watching her face closely. 

XXX

Clearly, there was some kind of time travel mishap going on right now. Something that made time move so much slower, because there was no way an elevator would normally take this long to reach her floor. Or maybe the elevator was stuck! And she had to face the thought of being trapped in here for hours with Oliver, who was looking at her with his stupid handsome face and his stupid hopeful eyes and his stupid little finger tic that always gave away how nervous he was.

Oliver, who was waiting to see if she was willing to go along with his frankly monumentally bad idea. ‘We see if something like tonight happens again and if something different happens that time’? Right, sure. 

Because she knew it was going to happen again. There was just no way-- _no way on Earth_ \--that something like that almost-kiss wouldn’t happen again. The genie was out of the bottle, Pandora had opened the box, Icarus was flying too close to the sun--and God, why did all these metaphors come straight out of myths? Why was she thinking about mythology right now?

Felicity pressed her lips together, trying to get herself back on track. She supposed his suggestion was a good one. Yes, most girls would take being rescued and then almost-kissed as an indication of a guy’s feelings. As a sign that he cared about you, a lot. She would have been one of those girls, once upon a time. But not after what had happened to them before, with Oliver saying something he didn’t know if he meant and Felicity assuming it actually meant something. 

No, until Oliver Queen flat-out told her that he was crazy about her and had already picked out names for their first three children--oh, _God_ , her brain really hated her--she wasn’t going to read anything into his actions. So while this whole ‘we just see what might happen’ idea was bound to fail, because it _would_ happen again, she couldn’t think of a better course of action. 

At least not until she had some wine and some mint chocolate chip ice cream. And a long phone call to Sara. 

The ding of the elevator finally finally _finally_ reaching their floor made Oliver’s fingers rub together at double the speed. Felicity took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asked, the hope in his eyes going from a tiny ember to a wildfire. 

She nodded quickly and eased around him as the doors started to close. “Okay. I’m going to bed--I’ll see you in the morning, Oliver.” 

Thankfully, Oliver didn’t try to follow her. He let the doors close, and she watched as the elevator indicator showed it was heading back to the lobby. She didn’t know if someone had called the elevator and Oliver was just going along for the ride, or if he decided to go to the lobby. Maybe he was going for a walk to clear his head. Perhaps he was going to the bar to drown his sorrows, to deal with his feelings, to--

Enough. Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. Oliver could do whatever he wanted. He didn’t have to answer to her and she wasn’t responsible for him. She was only responsible for herself. And right now, she needed to deal with what had happened tonight. Ironically, the moment with Oliver in the cab had nearly blotted out what had happened at the bookstore. Which she supposed she should be grateful for. 

With slow steps, Felicity walked to her room and let herself in. She immediately kicked off her heels, sighing as her feet sunk into the carpet. For a moment, she considered calling Sara, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear all of her best friend’s ‘I told you so’ comments after Felicity told her about the almost-kiss. So maybe a bath instead? 

Her mind decided, she started gathering what she needed for a hopefully-relaxing bath. And when she sank down into the spacious tub, the water a good temperature and the bubbles nice and foamy, Felicity felt a little bit of the tension ebbing away.

Resting her head against the tile wall, Felicity closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She knew she was going to go over everything about tonight in microscopic detail, but instead of just zooming in on something immediately, she let herself see what came to her mind first. 

She couldn’t believe he didn’t want to ignore the almost-kiss. That he didn’t take the out she offered him, sweeping under the carpet what happened in the cab. But no, he wanted to remember it. He was honest with her. 

It looked like he really had listened to her when she had told him she wanted honesty from him. Which made her wonder if maybe she shouldn’t just raise him in this game of honesty poker, by telling him she knew about the _Tattler_. 

After all, she had kind of lied to him, by not telling him what she knew. It was a lie of omission, yes. And she only had suspicions, not actual proof of Oliver’s involvement. But if she laid it all out and admitted how she had come to the conclusion that he had bought the _Tattler_ to keep its reporters off her back . . . well, at least she would know what was going on. She could stop wondering what it meant. If it meant anything at all. 

And maybe it would help smooth over any lingering awkwardness. If, at breakfast tomorrow, she kept their discussion away from the kiss--the almost-kiss, she corrected, since things would be very different now if they actually had kissed--if they could talk about this Tattler business tomorrow, maybe it would let them stop thinking about what had almost happened. 

Felicity sank down into the water a little, her mind reminding her of what they almost shared. God, his face in that moment, when he was so close to her. There had been more than a few times when she felt like she had all of Oliver’s attention--but she had never seen him as focused and intense as he had been when his lips were only inches from hers. And for a man who had suffered so much, his hands had been unbelievably gentle against her chin, touching her skin so lightly with his calloused fingers . . . 

This was a bad idea. But she couldn’t help it. Closing her eyes, Felicity imagined that the cab hadn’t been caught in traffic. She imagined Oliver leaning in even closer, his eyes staying open like hers as their lips met. His lips were soft, she bet. Soft yet firm. And as soon as their mouths connected, she knew that she couldn’t not touch him. Slide her fingers along his jaw, over his prickly-soft stubble. Run her hands through his hair, tugging a little on the short strands. And then, his shoulders, so wide and strong-looking. And the whole time, he’d be touching her, pulling her close to him, making her melt, kissing her, kissing her, kissing _her_ \--

Oh, God. 

Not even caring that her hands were wet and she hadn’t taken her makeup off yet, Felicity pressed her fingers to her eyes. She shouldn’t have done that. How could she think of anything but kissing him, the next time she saw him? It would be awkward and uncomfortable and she would ruin everything. _Everything_.

It wasn’t fair. She knew what she wanted. But she had to wait, had to play this stupid game, when they could be together if Oliver just--

_Stop it_ , her mental voice said. _It’s not like Oliver’s the only one with doubts. Because you haven’t exactly told him how you feel, have you?_

Some days, it sucked being able to argue with yourself. Because that annoying mental voice was right. She could have stepped up. She had known for a long time how she felt about Oliver. When he said he wasn’t sure how he felt, she could have countered by telling him that she knew how she felt. And she could have told him she didn’t want to wait--that they should see what they had by actually dating, instead of going into this holding pattern. 

It was easy to justify not telling him. Holding back because it wasn’t the right time, telling herself that there was no sense in confessing her love when things had been so uncertain between them. But honestly . . . she hadn’t said anything because she was scared of what would happen. Scared of being rejected, scared of being hurt. Just . . . scared. 

Sighing, Felicity pulled her hands away from her face and got out of the tub. She wrapped a towel around herself and took off the messy remnants of her makeup, trying to find some kind of equilibrium. A way forward.

She still wanted to ask Oliver about the _Tattler_. Tomorrow was as good a time as any. At least it would let her get that off her chest. That would be good, right?

XXX

For the last twenty minutes, Oliver had been sitting at the bar, looking down at the glass of Scotch he had ordered. After the first sip, he had set the glass down and hadn’t touched it since. Because that wasn’t the flavor he wanted to taste. 

God, he could already imagine how much Tommy would mock him for this. Tommy, Digg, even Sara--they were all going to have a field day with this. But he didn’t care that much. Just as long as the teasing happened after he knew what Felicity wanted. If she wanted him, warts and all. Then his friends could have all the fun at his expense that they wanted. 

But he had never really felt like this. He had plenty of experience with women, but nothing like the kind of relationship he had with Felicity. Before her, he had never been in love. Not real, true love, he thought. 

Running a finger around the rim of the glass, he tried to figure out just what made Felicity different. Why she had captured his interest so completely, from the very beginning. Back when he was still Ollie Queen, spoiled rich playboy. Because there had been a spark from the moment he found out that someone named Felicity Smoak existed. Perhaps it was all because she hadn’t immediately dismissed him. No, she had read that stupid frat boy book and saw something in it--in him--something that no one else had seen. 

Something worthy. 

That had been a new experience for him. And it had made him feel so confused that he ran from what it could mean, into Sara’s arms, away from all the questions and doubts. But it had stuck with him, through his years on the island and in Hong Kong and then when he returned to Starling. 

He wanted to make this work. Wanted to have a future with Felicity, if he could figure out a way to juggle Oliver Queen the writer and Oliver Queen the Arrow. But he had a feeling that if Felicity was there, he would be able to do it. He would be able to do anything. 

The bar was quiet at this time of night, and the bartender had sensed Oliver wanted to be left alone, which he appreciated. So that was why he left a twenty on the bar, next to the barely-touched glass of Scotch, and walked over to one of the booths in the back corner to make his phone call. 

“Hey, Ollie.” Tommy’s voice sounded distracted, and there was a slow clicking of keys in the background. 

“Are you in the middle of something?” Oliver asked, leaning back against the leather seat of the booth. 

There was a pause, then Tommy spoke again. “Nothing I can’t stop working on for a little while. It’s just inventory. What’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to call my best friend?” 

“When you haven’t called me and barely texted since you left for a month with the delightful Ms. Smoak? Yep, something has to be wrong.” 

Tommy didn’t sound annoyed, more amused, but his words still made Oliver feel guilty. “I’m sorry--” he began to say, only for Tommy to cut him off. 

“Nope, nope, none of that. Believe me, it’s a relief, not having you here and pining away for her,” Tommy said with a laugh. “So . . . to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? And if you try to talk about anything other than Felicity, I’m hanging up and calling her to tell her all about Ollie Queen’s Greatest Hits.”

Oliver grimaced a little. He needed to find some friends that didn’t know him so well. And honestly . . . what was the point in delaying this any longer?

“I nearly kissed Felicity tonight,” Oliver said, proactively pulling the phone away from his ear once the words were out. It was a good instinct, because Tommy let out a loud whoop.

“I knew it!” he yelled. “I _knew_ this was gonna happen! Well, no, I didn’t know it, but I hoped it would when I set this up, because seriously, Ollie, the cute little puppy dog thing has gone on long enough--” 

The enthusiasm was pretty overwhelming, so it took a moment for Oliver to fully grasp what Tommy said. “Wait, when you set this up? Set what up?”

There’s a long beat, and then Tommy said, resignation in his voice, “Well, crap.” 

“Tommy . . .” he said slowly and ominously.

“Okay, so I might have used my position as the money for slightly-less-than-innocent reasons, by encouraging the marketing people at Ex Astris to send you and Felicity out on tour together,” Tommy said. “They wanted you to go on tour and were discussing whether to make it a joint tour or not, and who to send with you, and I just . . . gave a few nudges. A few suggestions.” 

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Why would you do that?”

His best friend scoffed--actually scoffed. “Are you kidding me? If they pitched you a solo tour, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t want to leave Starling unprotected. But if Felicity was involved, I knew it’d be harder for you to turn it down. And frankly, Ollie, you needed this. You needed to get away and see that the city doesn’t fall apart without you. You needed a break. And honestly, you and Felicity? At the rate you were going, tortoises mate faster.” 

“And now I’m thinking about turtles having sex. Thanks, Tommy. Thanks a lot,” Oliver said, frowning. It was an easy way to cover how he felt about what Tommy was saying. Because he had thought he was so circumspect with his feelings for Felicity, with his views on being the Arrow. It seemed like he hadn’t kept things in as well as he thought. 

“No, you’re not. You’re probably still thinking about kissing Felicity. What happened? Why didn’t you seal the deal?” 

Shifting on the leather seat, Oliver spoke slowly. “We were in a cab, and the driver slammed on the brakes.”

There was silence, and then Tommy said, “That’s it?” 

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Oliver asked, wishing he hadn’t called Tommy. Wishing he had drunk the rest of the Scotch, wishing he had actually gotten to kiss Felicity. 

“That’s the big reason you didn’t kiss her--your cab driver slammed on the brakes?” Tommy groaned. “Dude, are you afraid of being happy or something?”

“Yes!” 

His answer was out of his mouth before he even realized it. But Tommy’s offhand question got at the heart of the matter. He was scared of being happy. Because happy never lasted . . . and when it was over, it hurt so damn much. 

“Oliver. Oliver, talk to me.” Tommy sounded worried. 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver covered his eyes with one hand. “I . . . there was this guy, hassling Felicity. And I kinda turned the Arrow part of me loose on him. No, I didn’t punch him,” Oliver said, cutting off the question he was sure Tommy would ask. “But Felicity was right there watching me, and I was sure she’d be . . . y’know. Scared. Of me.” 

“And she wasn’t.” 

Oliver breathed out slowly. “No. She wasn’t. She said that whatever I had done, it let me come back and be there with her. For her.” 

“Wow,” Tommy said. “That . . . that’s pretty epic, Ollie.” 

“She’s just--she always knows what to say. _Always_ ,” Oliver said, hearing the amazed note in his voice. “If you asked her, Felicity would say she’s not good with words, but she is. She saw me shirtless and said she didn’t notice the scars until after she noticed . . . well, the abs.” 

“A girl after my own heart,” Tommy joked. “You gotta tell me how to get the eight-pack, but if you say Pilates I will hit you with my crutch.”

The joke made him laugh a little, releasing some of the tension that was coiled inside his body. Tommy laughed, too, before continuing. “So what are you gonna do about it, Oliver?” 

He rubbed his thumb against his fingers slowly, feeling nervous. “I--I’m gonna set up something special for Felicity. And I’m gonna tell her who I am. And then . . . I’m gonna tell her how I feel about her.” 

Tommy was his best friend. Oliver knew he had his back. But the first person who should know he loved Felicity should be Felicity. Not Tommy or Digg or Sara or his mother or sister or anyone else. 

“You think you can wait that long? What if you just blurt it out?” Tommy said. 

“No--Felicity deserves special. She deserves everything.”

And nothing had ever felt more true than that.

XXX

With a deep breath to keep herself calm, Felicity walked down the hall to Oliver’s room. It was a new day, and that meant it was a great time to get some answers.

She squared her shoulders and knocked firmly on his door, doing her best to not fidget and stay focused. To not give in to her nerves at the thought of seeing him again for the first time since he said he didn’t want to forget almost kissing her.

When Oliver opened the door, his eyes immediately lit up and it made her feel warm all over. “Hey,” he said softly, holding the door with one hand. 

_Do not give in to the pretty eyes and the soft voice, Smoak!_

“Good morning,” she said, hoping she sounded at least somewhat normal and not like a dreamy schoolgirl. “You want to get some breakfast before we leave for Dallas?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, giving her a small smile. “Raisa always said ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Mr. Oliver.’”

To her surprise, he used what sounded like a flawless Russian accent while quoting this Raisa. Felicity blinked. “Who’s Raisa?” 

“Officially, she was our housekeeper. Unofficially, she was my second mother. Mine and Thea’s,” Oliver said, stepping back and gesturing for her to follow until she was in the doorway, holding the door open. She watched as he did those typical male getting-ready things, like gathering his wallet, keys and phone and distributing them into his pockets. 

“Oh,” Felicity said, wondering why he was telling her this. 

He glanced over at her as he pulled on his coat, and damn, it was totally unfair how attractive he was. Giving her head a shake, she said, “I’m starving. And Raisa is right--breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Because it has coffee. Although any meal can have coffee, really, but breakfast and coffee just go together like bacon and eggs.”

“I agree,” he said, smiling a little. A different smile from the little half-quirked ones or the big beaming ones. This one was smaller, quieter. But no less amazing. 

Felicity swallowed and walked with Oliver to the elevator, pressing her lips together tightly. She didn’t want to keep babbling, making him smile that adorable little smile, considering what she wanted to talk to him about. So even though the silence was a little uncomfortable, in that ‘this is way too easy and shouldn’t it be hard after what happened?’ kind of way, staying quiet was better than letting her mouth set a tone that wasn’t accurate to their future discussion. 

The coffee shop down the street from their hotel was no greasy-spoon diner, but they had good coffee and an acceptable selection of pastries, even though Oliver had grumbled a little about there being not enough variety in their selection of proteins. Which had made her laugh at him, until he had smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders in that ridiculously charming way he had about him. 

God, almost kissing him was totally wrecking her powers of concentration. 

Once they were in a booth, with piping-hot coffee and a blueberry muffin for her and a bagel and hard-boiled eggs for him, Felicity told herself it was time. But she waited until after her first sip of coffee to get started. “Oliver?” 

He glanced up at her as he tore open a salt packet and lightly shook it over his eggs. “Yeah?” 

“Do you remember when the _Tattler_ contacted me for an interview about you? Last year?” 

If she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did, Felicity might have missed his reaction. The oh-so-slight tensing of his body, the slight catching of his breath. But she did know him, and she knew he was surprised by her question.

Carefully, Oliver set down the salt and looked at her. “Yeah, of course.” 

Wrapping her hands around her mug so she wouldn’t fidget and gesture, Felicity kept her eyes locked on his forehead. “It’s funny how after I told you about the interview request, all of a sudden the Tattler got bought and totally changed their slant. Went from being a trashy tabloid to being a community newspaper.” 

“It’s not that strange,” Oliver said, lifting his mug to drink some coffee. And to stall, Felicity thought. “New owners in any business usually mean changes get made. Or so I’ve heard. I didn’t study business at any of the four colleges I dropped out of.” 

“I suppose,” Felicity replied, watching him carefully. “But still, I thought it was curious. So . . . I did a little digging.” 

There was the barest flicker in his eyes of something, but it happened too fast for her to figure out. But he didn’t say anything and Felicity plunged ahead. “The _Tattler_ was purchased by the Dearden Communications Group. And the name kinda nagged at me, like I had heard it before, and then I realized . . . it’s your mother’s maiden name. The Dearden Communications Group is a company that’s under the Queen Consolidated umbrella.” 

“What are you asking me, Felicity?” Oliver said, his hands moving from the table into his lap. She would bet all the money in her bank account--which was now a sizable amount--that he was doing his finger twitch and wanted to hide it. 

This didn’t feel good. Why was she doing this? Why was she asking these questions, bringing this up? Was she so scared of getting involved with Oliver that she was putting up all these barriers between anything happening? 

She chewed on her lower lip. It was too late to take anything back, to tell him it was nothing. Because Oliver knew it wasn’t nothing and he wouldn’t accept her bringing this up only to drop it. So she just pressed on. “I’m asking if you bought the _Tattler_ because of me. Basically.” 

“Basically?” he asked, shifting so he was leaning forward, his weight resting on his elbows and his hands still hidden. “I think I’d like to hear your full accusation before I respond.” 

“It’s not an accusation, Oliver,” she said, sighing a little. “It’s more that I’m really confused and kinda angry if you did do this, because--why? Were you worried I’d say something embarrassing about you? Spill your big secret plans about your writing? I know I babble a lot, but--”

“That’s not it, Felicity,” he interrupted, but Felicity held up a hand. 

“No, let me--I just need to say something first,” she said quickly. Oliver pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a nod. Taking a breath, Felicity went on. “I’ve known about this for a while, and I’ve wanted to talk to you about it. I . . . I realize I’m probably coming off like a big hypocrite, demanding that you be honest with me when I’ve been sitting on this. But I didn’t have any proof, just some coincidences that could fit a theory. And . . . and I guess I’m tired of wondering. But I promise, there’s nothing else like this in my head, there’s no other suspicions or doubts about you. I’m not coming up with reasons to distrust you--I want to trust you.”

Felicity paused and felt her cheeks flush. “Actually, I do trust you. A lot, Oliver.” 

An uncertain silence stretched between them, until Oliver shifted on his side of the booth. “Can I . . .?” 

Nodding emphatically, Felicity waved her hands between him. “Yes, yes, it’s your turn and I’ll be quiet and listen.” 

His lips quirked in the barest trace of a smile and he nodded back. “Okay. So . . . yes.” 

“Yes?” she said, when Oliver didn’t say anything else for a moment. He gave her a look, and she blushed and mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key. God, why did she do such silly things?

Oliver didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to relax him. “Yes, I recommended that the Dearden Communications Group buy the _Tattler_. Not just because of you--they’ve been a pain in my ass for years, although back before the island I could care less if I ended up in the tabloids. Now . . . well, I don’t like it,” he said, his eyes dropping to the table. 

Which was understandable, Felicity thought to herself. Oliver had definitely developed a desire for privacy in the five years he was gone, and the _Tattler_ had picked up their pursuit of “Ollie” the minute Oliver had returned to Starling.

“But when you told me they contacted you, as part of a story on me . . .” Oliver’s voice trailed off and he slowly raised his eyes to hers. “I really didn’t like it. I didn’t want you to get--to get sucked into all that. Because one minute it would be about me, and the next it would be about you. After all, what’s more interesting than a damaged former playboy? A beautiful and strong woman recovering from an awful attack.” 

At this rate, her face was going to be permanently red. But Oliver had just called her beautiful and strong. _Her_ , Felicity Smoak, who could only wear glasses now and still got panic attacks!

She lifted her mug and took a gulp of coffee. 

“I was overprotective and I should have been more upfront with you about what was happening. And I wasn’t. So I’m sorry for that, Felicity. But I don’t regret what I did. At all.” Oliver’s voice was firm, his eyes holding hers. 

It was impossible not to believe every word he said. And it made her boggle at how well he was taking this. Normally, her mental antenna would be going up, wondering why he wasn’t upset with her, but--but they just weren’t. Because she trusted him. 

XXX

Dallas Morning News, April 1, 2014  
 **Smoak and Queen Appear at Half Price Books**

Houston Chronicle, April 2, 2014  
 **Author Q &A: Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen**

El Paso Times, April 4, 2014  
 **Technology and Modern Society: A Discussion with Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak**

Publisher’s Lunch, April 4, 2014  
 **Ex Astris Edging Closer to the Black**

With a steady infusion of cash, Ex Astris has gone from beleaguered to merely troubled. And now that the publicity tour for the new books from Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen has drawn praise, there’s a new feeling surrounding the newly-independent publisher. 

Kirkus Reviews, April 2014  
 **Journeys; Author: Queen, Oliver**

Up until now best known for _The Frat Boy Way_ , Queen breaks out with this sensitive, slightly overwrought collection of essays. Skirting the line of navel-gazing, the essays still present a unique perspective on survival and recovery.

XXX

If the urge to just haul off and kiss Felicity hadn’t been overwhelming before, it was getting almost unbearable over the past few days, ever since they had talked about him buying the _Tattler_. Because . . . because it was just unbelievably sexy to have her trust him. Sitting across from her, knowing that she had been worried about telling him about the _Tattler_ business and had still gone ahead, because she believed he would tell her the truth if she asked him for it--it fixed something inside himself. 

God, the next thing he’d know, he would be doodling their names in his notebook and wondering which Queen family engagement ring to get out of the vault--

Whoa. He needed to slow down. Like, right now. 

Hoping he hadn’t given away his thoughts, Oliver glanced over at Felicity, only to find that she was asleep, her head bobbing and swaying slightly against the headrest. They had wrapped up the Texas swing of the tour and were taking a late-night flight to Salt Lake City, which was a surprising tech hotbed according to Felicity. 

It was also nearly the end of the tour. After Salt Lake, they were on to Vegas and then . . . home. And that meant time was running out on him. 

He had promised himself that by the end of the tour, he would know how he felt about Felicity and would take action. Well, he knew how he felt. But what to do with that admission was making him sweat. Because how do you tell the woman you love about the massive secret you’ve kept from her, even as you confess how you wanted everything with her? Because he couldn’t give her everything. There had to be a piece of him that was the Arrow, that stayed focused on saving Starling and righting his father’s wrongs.

Felicity’s head bobbed some more and she let out a tiny little noise of discomfort. Oliver didn’t hesitate to gently move her head onto his shoulder. She immediately relaxed, sighing softly in her sleep, and Oliver felt that desire, once again, to kiss her.

Maybe . . . maybe Las Vegas was the place to tell her. After all, it was the last real stop on the tour, it had been her former home, it was someplace he was familiar with . . . Something about confessing his feelings to her in the city she had grown up in felt right. 

And he could do it up right. A special dinner, a night on the town to celebrate the end of the tour disguising the true purpose of the evening: to make Felicity realize just how much he cared about her. 

He cared enough to tell her the truth about him. To answer all her questions, as best as he could, to be vulnerable to her in a way that he wasn’t around anyone else. All so he would know that if she chose him, she was choosing all of him. Which meant that he would never have to let her go. 

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence and Oliver tried to steady Felicity a little, but it was too late. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, then fumbled a little on her tray table for her glasses. “Did I fall asleep on you?” she asked, her voice slightly raspy. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” he said quickly, shifting in his seat a little, wishing there was more room for his legs. Although having them jammed in against his torso did help with . . . other problems. 

She gave him a sleepy smile and sat up straight, smoothing her hands over her hair and fixing her dress. “How long until we get to Salt Lake?” 

“About forty-five minutes or so,” Oliver said, watching her. Feeling himself get lost in her. 

“So what were you doing while I was sleeping?” she asked. 

“Oh . . . just feeling glad. That we’re on a plane and Isabel can’t call me while we’re in the air,” he said, grabbing for an explanation. “She’s still upset about that review.” 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “It was modest praise from Kirkus--she should be over the moon. They’re vicious in their reviews.” 

“So you’ve said,” Oliver said, unable to hold back the smile. Unable to hold back on a lot of things around her now. Ever since that moment in the cab, he had kept mentioning little bits and pieces of his history, of his thoughts, around her. Whether it was talking about Raisa or Thea, getting her opinion on changing agents, or asking what tie to wear before signings, he wanted to know what Felicity thought. Wanted to share himself with her. 

“I’m telling you, I really think you need to find a new agent. And I normally wouldn’t say that to someone, because most of the time when you’re complaining, you just need to blow off some steam, but I don’t think you and Isabel are a good fit.” Felicity paused and adjusted her glasses. “Not that you’re a couple or anything. I meant a good fit as writer and agent, of course.” 

“Me and Isabel as a couple?” Oliver shook his head. “You have quite the imagination, Ms. Smoak.” He smirked at her and nudged her a little with his elbow. “I don’t know where you get these ideas.” 

Letting out a soft laugh, Felicity nudged him back. “Don’t get off the topic. Do you want me to ask Laurel if there’s anyone she’d recommend? Have you thought about what you want?” 

Oh, had he. But Felicity meant in an agent, not in a girlfriend, so Oliver just ran a hand over his face. “Honestly? I’d just as soon go with Laurel. Because I already know her, and you speak so highly of her.” 

“Really?” Felicity asked, her face lighting up. “I love working with Laurel and I think she’s amazing. I still can’t believe the deal she got me with Hachette for _Scientific Magic_. If you want to do that, I will totally call her as soon as the plane lands and give her your number.” 

“You know . . . I kinda feel like doing this right now,” Oliver said slowly.

Felicity’s eyes went wide and round. “Ex-excuse me?” 

Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Can I borrow your tablet? I’m going to pay for some of the ‘exorbitantly priced wi-fi’ and send Laurel an email right now. See what she says before I tell Isabel I want a new agent.” He smiled at Felicity, quoting her words from their conversation on their first commercial flight of the tour, when she had complained about the access charges airlines exacted for onboard Internet service.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, of course,” she said, leaning forward and rummaging in her tote, pulling out her tablet. “Let me just . . .” She moved her green-tipped fingernails briskly, expertly navigating the screens. All she let him do was take the tablet to enter his credit card number, and then, once the connection had been made, she made a cute little harrumph. “Slower than a snail, but it should be enough for an email or two.” 

Chuckling under his breath, he semi-awkwardly tapped on the screen to get to the browser. “Weren’t you just complaining that your tablet was so slow, it made elephants look like cheetahs?” 

“Why do all our references to speed come from the animal kingdom?” Felicity asked, leaning back and crossing her legs. “And yes, I was. But that’s because my tablet is like a beloved grandma at this point in its life cycle. And soon she’ll be in the ground--but not yet.” Reaching out, Felicity lightly patted the corner of the tablet, her fingers brushing against his hand. 

And just like whenever she made contact with him lately, Oliver felt his skin tingle. 

He cleared his throat. “Hey. So . . . so we’re going to be in Vegas after Salt Lake.” 

“Argh, yes, I know. I’ve been . . . well, ‘dread’ is a bit of an exaggeration,” she said, playing with one of her earrings. “But I haven’t been looking forward to going home again.” 

“Why not?” he asked, cutting his eyes back and forth between the tablet and Felicity. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “I was so desperate to get out of Vegas, I’ve never really wanted to go back. I left when I went to MIT and I spent my summers taking extra classes or doing internships, so I haven’t been back since. My mom visited me a few times, but . . .”

For so much of his time on the island, in Hong Kong, in Russia, he had longed to return to Starling City. But not so much because of the city itself, really--but because of the people that were there. Since Felicity said her relationship with her mother was complicated, he could understand that she had mixed feelings about Las Vegas. Maybe he should change his plans, wait until they were back in Starling-- 

No. He was going to do this, and he was going to do it in Vegas. 

As he typed up the emails to Laurel, asking about how she could become his agent, Oliver crafted his approach with Felicity. By the time he hit send, he was all set. 

“I’ve been to Vegas a bunch of times,” he commented as he closed out of his email account and handed over her tablet. 

“A frat boy with billions to spend, visiting Las Vegas? I’m shocked that out of all the debauchery capitals of the world, you went to Sin City of all places,” Felicity said, her eyes twinkling at him. 

He gave her a stern look, even as he couldn’t help smiling. “It was my cross to bear. But now I’m curious about the real Las Vegas. The one you grew up in. Maybe you could give me a bit of a tour while we’re there.”

Felicity looked at him curiously. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, turning towards her in his seat. “Tell me about Vegas, Felicity.” 

The way she ducked her head and smiled a little made him want to tug on her ponytail. And kiss her. 

But everything about her made him want to kiss her. Especially the way she talked: starting slowly, but gradually warming up to the subject, her words coming faster and her hands moving and--

He loved her so damn much.

XXX

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with your mom? Spend some extra time with her?” 

Felicity looked over her shoulder at Oliver, standing behind her as she fumbled with the lock on her hotel room. “I’m sure. My mom lives in a trailer with crappy air conditioning. And even in early April, you want AC in Vegas. But then, she’s spent so many years waitressing in skimpy outfits in icebox casinos, she likes the heat, she says.” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Felicity quickly turned back to face the door. Yeah, she had told Oliver her mom was a cocktail waitress, but . . . that was a lot of info she just told him about how big of a gap there was between their upbringings. Because she grew up in a trailer and he grew up in a mansion. 

“It got cold a lot on the island.” 

Oliver’s voice was very quiet. Very soft. And very vulnerable. And it was the first time he had ever said anything about what it had been like for him there. 

Oh-so-slowly, she turned to look at him, leaning back against the door because she needed something to keep her upright. She moistened her lips and said, “Y-yeah?” 

His eyes were locked on her face as he nodded. “Cold and rainy. So I guess your mom and I have something in common.” 

The number of thoughts that went whizzing through her brain was astonishing, even for Felicity. Because she was used to her brain and was used to having a million different thoughts at once. But amidst the _OMG he talked about the island!_ and _he wants to have something in common with my mom!_ and _how did he survive that place for five years?_ and _what did this mean?_ , there was one thought--one feeling--that was stronger and louder and more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.

_I love him._

She opened and closed her mouth, then swallowed. “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Oliver.” 

He gave her a tiny, shy little smile and shrugged his shoulders. “No one seems to know what to say. That’s why I don’t talk about the island.” He paused and looked at her, like he wanted to say something else, but then he took a step towards her. “Tomorrow, we’ve only got that signing at lunchtime, so I thought we could maybe go for that tour of Vegas afterwards?” 

“Um . . . yeah,” Felicity said, trying to keep up. Because she had this feeling that Oliver was in one place, a really good place, somewhere she wanted to be, and he was just waiting for her to get there. To be with him. 

“And then . . . I thought we could have dinner?”

Things were moving way too fast--or not fast enough. Felicity wasn’t sure. She blinked. “We have dinner together pretty much every night, Oliver.” 

Oliver hesitated, then let out a breathy little sigh of a laugh. “I know. But I meant . . . I wanted to say, would you have dinner with me?” 

“Like a date?” she blurted out, feeling her heart pound in her chest. 

“That was what I was . . . yes. Like a date.” 

He looked nervous. Like how he had looked when he asked her to get coffee with him, all those months ago, but this time, it was like nervous turned up to eleven. And it was adorable. And terrifying. Because Oliver was nervous about asking her out on a date? Why? 

Although maybe he was nervous for the same reason she was nervous about being asked on a date by Oliver. Because--because this seemed like something you’d do if you had figured out your feelings for someone. After saying you weren’t sure how you felt and needed time, but then you spent a month together and developed shared jokes and learned so much about each other and felt like a smile from them made a bad day better and a good day amazing. 

Felicity felt her head slowly nod. “Yes. Yes.” 

It was strange. As soon as she said the words, her nerves vanished. She didn’t feel worried or anxious and doubtful. No, she was excited. So excited, she might not be able to sleep tonight. And by the smile on Oliver’s face, he was feeling the same way. 

“Great. That--that’s great. Um, I’ll let you check out your room now. Get some sleep. See you in the morning?” he asked, rubbing his hands against his jeans a little and still smiling at her. 

She nodded and turned back to the door, opening it quickly. She maneuvered her suitcase inside a bit awkwardly and gave him a little wave as she let the door swing shut. And if she maybe took a step so she could keep her eyes on him as the door closed . . . well, he probably hadn’t noticed. 

Then she slapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the giddy shrieks of delight that were trying to get out. Finally she was going to tell Oliver how she felt, and it would be romantic and perfect and the start of something amazing. 

But then, like a bucket of cold water crashing over her, Felicity realized she had a problem. A big problem.

“What am I going to wear?” she asked aloud, staring at her suitcase. The suitcase that held clothing Oliver had seen her wearing for the last twenty-five days.

She had to go shopping. She needed a car and then she could go shopping. Yes. This was a good plan. Thank God Vegas was the city that never slept.

Grabbing her tote, she reached out to open the door, only for her phone to start ringing. Sighing, Felicity started digging for her phone. 

“I swear, Mom, if you’re calling now--” she muttered, only to stop when she saw it was an unknown number. Frowning slightly, Felicity pressed ‘Accept Call’. “Hello?”

“Ms. Smoak? It’s Isabel Rochev.”

Well, that was a mood-killer, Felicity thought a bit glumly. And also confusing, because why would Isabel be calling her? But she did her best to sound upbeat. “Hi, Isabel. This is a surprise, I have to say . . .”

“Yes, of course. It’s a bit like the surprise I got when I received Oliver’s email.” 

Felicity felt her forehead wrinkle in confusion. “What email?”

“The email he sent yesterday, terminating the contract for my services as his agent. An email he sent at your prompting, apparently,” Isabel said. Her voice was never exactly overflowing with warmth, but Felicity almost felt a chill go down her back at the icy tone. 

“Perhaps this is something you should be discussing with Oliver--” Felicity began to say, only for Isabel to cut her off.

“No, I doubt I’d get much sense from Oliver on this. Not that he’s known for his brains, is he?” Isabel said scathingly. “He’s a pretty face with a famous name, and that’s all he needs to get anything in life.” 

“That’s not fair,” Felicity said, holding her phone tightly. She didn’t understand what was going on with Isabel, but there was no way she could say such things about Oliver without Felicity immediately defending him. “I’ve seen how hard he works, and I’ve believed in his talent and potential from day one.” 

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Isabel asked. 

The studied innocence was like a slap in the face. Isabel couldn’t be implying-- “What are you saying?” Felicity demanded, hearing the first tinge of her Loud Voice coming out. 

“I’m saying that the only reason you’re on that tour is Oliver Queen,” Isabel said. “It’s worthy of me, getting your publisher to pay for your girlfriend to join you on your book tour.” 

Felicity swallowed, if only to give herself a moment to think. To decide how angry she wanted to be in telling Isabel how full of crap she was. 

“I’m on this tour to promote my book. My friendship with Oliver has nothing to do with that,” Felicity said firmly, then decided to throw out something she didn’t usually brag about. “I’m a _New York Times_ -bestselling author. Why wouldn’t Ex Astris want me to go on tour for my new book?”

There was a long pause, and then Isabel spoke, her voice silky and reassuring. “You’re right. They’d definitely want you to do publicity. Oliver would want that, too. Since he owns Ex Astris.” 

_What?_

It wasn’t until she heard Isabel, speaking breezily, that Felicity realized she had said that out loud. 

“Oh, I thought you knew. Oliver Queen was the one who bought Ex Astris. He’s the one who’s been pumping money into the company, trying to keep the ship from sinking. I can’t imagine why. If he wanted his own vanity press, to publish his books and those written by whoever he’s banging, he could have just started one from scratch, but he had a strange kind of loyalty to Ex Astris,” Isabel said in a gossipy tone. 

Without even bothering to say anything, Felicity hung up on Isabel. She felt light-headed, probably because of how fast she was breathing. Her stomach fluttered like she was about to throw up and her hands were clammy.

Because Oliver had lied to her again. Had sat across from her when she had confessed to knowing about the _Tattler_ and hadn’t told her he bought Ex Astris, hadn’t told her that she was on this tour because of him and not because of her book . . . 

What else was he lying about? Did he even care about her at all? No--no, he couldn’t, not to keep doing this to her, not to continue ignoring what she wanted or needed. What did that island do to him to turn him into that kind of man? What kind of psychopath had she fallen in love with? 

Felicity ran her hands over her hair, making herself slow her breathing. She needed to think, and to think she needed oxygen. 

No--she needed to get away. She needed to get out of here. She needed to go somewhere safe. 

Grabbing her tote and her phone, Felicity stumbled out of her room, heading for the elevator as fast as her unsteady feet could carry her. She just couldn’t believe she had let herself be suckered like this. She had grown up in Vegas. She had been able to identify a con artist within a minute by the time she was twelve. By eighteen, she had narrowed the time to twenty seconds. 

So how had she been so totally fooled by Oliver? So maybe he wasn’t a psychopath, but . . . but he was the best liar, the best con artist, she had ever come across.

_You know he isn’t. You know who he is. Talk to him, Felicity._

Felicity ignored the voice in her head--or maybe the voice was coming from further south, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart--as she hurried off the elevator towards the concierge desk. She tried to smile at the pleasant-looking girl behind the counter, but she was sure her smile looked trembly. 

“I need to rent a car, please.” 

End, Chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to MachaWicket, for reading this chapter and reassuring me that it didn’t suck. Because honestly, if I didn’t make this chapter work, the rest of the story wouldn’t work, either. So I hope you enjoy what might be the pivotal chapter in this fic!

Publisher’s Weekly, April 7, 2014  
 **Review: Journeys by Oliver Queen**

This compelling read, part memoir and part essay collection, is a rare find. In the hands of a lesser writer, it would seem trite or maudlin, but Queen sidesteps such pitfalls with well-chosen phrases and the subtle use of dry humor. 

Starling City Examiner, April 8, 2014  
 **SCPD Receives National Award from Fraternal Order of Police**

When questions are raised about the Arrow and other costumed vigilantes that have set up shop in Starling, Captain Lance is less sanguine. “I argue with their methods. It’s not right for private citizens to put on masks and take the law into their own hands. But in the same breath, the crime rate in the Glades is dropping and there’s hope. So what are we gonna do? I don’t know, but we’re gonna figure it out.”

Las Vegas Review-Journal, April 8, 2014  
 **One Of Our Own: Bestselling Author Felicity Smoak Returns to Las Vegas**

It’s the first time the charming Ms. Smoak has returned to Las Vegas to promote one of her books. She’s flattered yet flustered by the idea that people she used to know will turn out to see her. 

“I was such a nerd in high school--I had dark hair and thick glasses and spent all my time in the computer lab or the library. So I doubt most people remember me. But if there’s anyone who has read my books because of the Las Vegas connection, I’m really grateful!”

XXX

“I’m so excited to read this!” The middle-aged housewife with overly-highlighted hair gave Oliver a big smile as she leaned forward, slowly taking the book he had just autographed for her. 

“Thank you,” Oliver said, doing his best to smile back. To let this fan, like every other fan, have a moment with him, after they came out to this bookstore and took time out of their day in order to see him.

That was what he kept repeating to himself in his head, so he wouldn’t freak out about Felicity’s unexplained absence. 

Well, it wasn’t completely unexplained. She had sent him a text early in the morning, a one-word text: _sick_. Which wasn’t really like her, to be so monosyllabic in her texts, but then, he didn’t know what kind of person Felicity was when she was sick. Thea always got grouchy while Oliver just wanted to be left alone. Maybe Felicity was like him, and that was why she sent such a short text. 

And as nice as that thought was--the idea that it was a way they were similar--it wasn’t quite enough to stem his worry. He’d tried knocking on her door before he left for the signing, but there had been no answer, and he hadn’t wanted to take his knocks above gentle, in case she was sleeping. He’d left instructions at the front desk, though, for someone to check on Felicity. Then he’d headed out into the heat of a Vegas afternoon for the book signing. 

There were a lot of disappointed people in the audience when they found out that Felicity was sick, since a local paper had published a big article about her return to Vegas. An article that had thoroughly embarrassed Felicity, so much that Oliver couldn’t help being amused. And also sure that it wasn’t enough, because Felicity deserved all the positive attention. 

Sighing softly, Oliver squared his shoulders, pasted on his smile, and looked to the next fan in line. “Hi, how are you today?” he said, taking the book and noting the name on the Post-It, scrawling it on the title page above his signature. 

The next half-hour was more of the same: Oliver signing and doing his best not to be distracted by thoughts of Felicity. Occasionally he checked his phone to make sure it had a signal, because he didn’t want to miss any calls or texts. But his phone was silent, and Oliver told himself that there was almost no need for worry.

Almost.

He was considering whether to cancel the reservations he had made, for the private room at Joël Robuchon’s restaurant. If Felicity was sick, she wouldn’t enjoy the multi-course meal and wine pairings. And honestly . . . he would be content sharing a pizza with her. It wasn’t the meal that mattered when he was with Felicity. 

But he wanted to pull out all the stops for her. It was like the private jet at the start of the tour: he knew Felicity wouldn’t accept them using the jet for the whole tour, but when he had good reasons for using it, she was willing to agree to a little bit of pampering. Of course, it was getting harder and harder to not give her everything in the world. The number of times over the last month that he had been ready to find the nearest electronics store and buy her the fanciest, most top-of-the-line tablet there was . . . well, it was in the high double digits. Maybe the low triple digits. And that was before he knew he loved her. 

Oliver ducked his head and smiled a little, setting aside his worries for the moment and soaking up this feeling. He loved Felicity. Falling in love was the last thing he expected to happen when he returned from the island. He thought he would just have his mission and nothing more. He thought that was all he deserved. 

But Felicity . . . she had changed his mind. Made him reconsider just what his mission should be. That his father’s command-- _survive!_ \--meant something else now. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about living. 

Now the only question was whether Felicity wanted to be part of the life he wanted to live. 

Now that the signing was over, he could head back to the hotel and check on Felicity. He pulled out his phone to see if the hotel had called him and frowned when there was no sign of a missed call or a voice mail. As he walked out of the bookstore, he dialed the number for the concierge he had talked with this morning. 

“Good afternoon and thank you for calling the Bellagio. This is Cassie, how may I assist you?” 

“Hi, Cassie, this is Oliver Queen,” he said. “I talked to you this morning, about having someone check on my friend, Felicity Smoak in room 1121?” 

There was a long pause and Oliver frowned. “Yes, Mr. Queen,” Cassie said hesitantly. “I asked one of our bellboys to check on Ms. Smoak about an hour ago, and then I went up myself about twenty minutes ago. I was just about to call you.” 

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, looking around for the car that had brought him to the bookstore. For the last three hours, he had done his best to hold back his concern, telling himself he was overreacting. But suddenly, he was wondering if he should have trusted his gut. Should have done something other than wait. 

“Ms. Smoak wasn’t in her room.” 

Oliver drew up short. “She wasn’t?” 

“No, sir. And after consulting with some of my fellow concierges, it appears . . .” Cassie let her voice trail off, then she lowered her voice. “Ms. Smoak arranged for a rental car last night.” 

“What?” He could hear how breathless he sounded, which made sense. Because he felt like he had gotten punched in the gut. 

“Last night, around five, Ms. Smoak came to the concierge desk and asked for assistance in booking a rental car. Then she left the hotel property.” 

Las Vegas was in the midst of a warm snap. The sun was shining brightly and temperatures were forecast to top out in the upper eighties today. But at that moment, standing in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by hot asphalt, Oliver Queen felt cold. Very, very cold. 

His throat felt thick and clogged. “Cassie, please arrange for the hotel detective to meet me at your desk in a half-hour. It’s been nearly twelve hours since anyone heard from Felicity, and it’s not like her to act this way.” 

“Of course, Mr. Queen.” 

Hanging up the phone quickly, Oliver finally spotted the damn car and yanked open the back door. “Back to the Bellagio, now. Please,” he said to the driver, tacking on the ‘please’ half-heartedly. As soon as he was seated, he sent Felicity a text.

_where are you? please text or call._

Then he tried calling, only for his call to go to voicemail after six rings. Her phone was so flaky--what if she had gotten into an accident somewhere and couldn’t call him? Couldn’t call an ambulance? 

“Felicity, it’s Oliver,” he said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. “I know you’re sick, but you’re not at the hotel and--and I’m worried. Please call me as soon as you get this.” 

He leaned back against the seat, taking deep breaths even as his fingers twitched against his phone. It could all be nothing, easily explained by a dead cell battery and losing track of time. He didn’t understand why she had rented a car, but perhaps she wanted to go see her mother on her own, without him knowing. She had seemed so embarrassed last night, about her mother living in a trailer. But Oliver didn’t care about that--he didn’t care about anything other than Felicity being okay. 

As the desert landscape flew past, Oliver stared out the window, wondering where Felicity was. Then he turned back to his phone and sent her another text.

XXX

_are you okay? please call me._

“Felicity, please call me as soon as you get this.” 

_felicity i need you to hear from you._

“I really hope you’re not answering because your cell phone is dead. And you’ll know as soon as you see the phone that I really need to talk to you. But please . . . call me when you get this.” 

_what’s wrong? tell me & i’ll help._

“I am freaking out, Felicity. Whatever’s going on--if it’s your mom or something else--just call me, please?” 

Tossing her phone back into the passenger seat of the Focus she had rented, Felicity gripped the wheel and gazed out through the windshield. No sooner had the phone landed than it started vibrating again with another incoming text. 

Her text to Oliver in the early hours of the morning had bought her some time. But now he was realizing she wasn’t at the hotel. He probably knew she had rented a car, and he didn’t understand why. All of his texts and voicemails had a thread of confusion running through them. 

But more than that, all of his messages sounded scared. 

Good. He should be scared. Because she was angry. Angry like she had never been before. She wasn’t the type to get mad. Most of the times when she was upset, when she felt betrayed or tricked or otherwise slighted, she would cry. Or try to let go of her anger by doing her best to put herself in the other person’s shoes and understand their actions. 

She couldn’t do that now, though. Not with what Oliver had done, not with how he had played her. Made her trust him, made her believe in him, when anyone else telling her what he had told her would have gotten the full weight of her skepticism and doubt. 

Oliver Queen was a liar. He lied right to her face, when she had worked up all her courage to ask him about the _Tattler_ , and hadn’t told her that he owned Ex Astris. That his money bought _This or That_ , his money paid for her hotel rooms and plane tickets. 

His money. What must it be like, to have so much money that you could just spend it freely? That it let you think it was right to treat another person like they didn’t matter? That you could act like some king, keeping secrets and patting yourself on the back for being so good to the little people?

Oh, God. He must pity her so much. 

Felicity had always prided herself, no matter how bad things had looked, that she managed to stand on her own two feet. She had taken care of herself and remained independent. 

But like everything else in her life, it seemed like that had been a lie, too. Because it was Oliver supporting her, like she was his mistress! No, slave--slave was the better word. 

Her chest felt tight and her vision was blurring so badly that the oncoming headlights smeared into lines of light. She reached up, under her glasses, and found tears were leaking from her eyes. 

With a gasp, Felicity turned on her indicator and moved the car over to the shoulder. She threw it into park and then pulled off her glasses. Covering her face with her hands, she silently cried, her forehead coming to rest against the steering wheel. 

What had she done? How had she ended up here? She wasn’t quite sure. Ever since she got the car last night, she had just started driving. She drove away from Vegas, heading west. Maybe subconsciously thinking of just driving back to Starling City. But going back to Starling would just remind her of Oliver, and that was the last thing she wanted. 

Only her exhaustion had made her stop, sometime in the early hours of the morning, and check into a motel. But she had barely slept. She had just stared up at the ceiling, still wearing her clothes, until it was time to check out. A breakfast of coffee and three bites of a bagel had made her jittery, made her feel more tired than she was before. Or maybe it was the one-word text she had sent Oliver. Hating to contact him, but knowing she had to give him some reason for her absence. But she definitely was not ready to talk to him yet.

But as she began driving back to Vegas, knowing that she couldn’t blow off all the signings, her anger began growing. And growing. Until it exploded into this bout of tears. 

She thought he cared about her. That she was his friend, if nothing else. But how could you treat a friend like this? Like she wasn’t good enough to be treated as an equal? Oh, sure, he let her buy him coffee, always with that little smile on his face. She used to think it meant he appreciated how determined she was to not be a leech--that she didn’t assume he should pay for everything just because he was the billionaire. 

Now, though, she knew what that expression was. It was pity and it was amusement. “Silly Felicity, she thinks she’s just as good as me!” 

_You know that’s not true._

No. This time, she wasn’t going to let that voice in her head convince her. She didn’t want to see this from Oliver’s side--she refused. Because she didn’t want to be like him. She didn’t want to go around, filled up with ideas about _noblesse oblige_ and doing good works towards the peasantry. 

What she wanted to do was go back to Vegas and tear Oliver Jonas Queen a new one. She had already taken too much from him, had already let him have his way more than he should. It was time for him to understand that he couldn’t get away with this crap. Not with her. 

It was time for Oliver to find about about her Loud Voice. 

So even though her stomach was tied up in knots and her hands were clammy at the thought of what she was going to do, Felicity started driving back to Vegas. As she pressed the accelerator down, she stoked the anger inside herself and wiped her eyes. 

He might be able to tell she had been crying, but he wouldn’t think she was weak. Not when she was done with him. Even if it meant the death of so many of her hopes and dreams.

XXX

By now, he had a very precise path. He paced back and forth, between the door of his room and the sliding door onto the balcony, twice. Then he checked his watch and his phone. He would alternate between sending Felicity a text and leaving her yet another voicemail. And then he would start the loop all over again. 

It was the only way he could keep himself from doing something monumentally stupid. Like buying a black hoodie and a crossbow and storming the police department, forcing them to mobilize and find Felicity. Or compelling the security staff of the Bellagio to examine all their video coverage to see where Felicity went, since all casinos were covered in cameras. Or going on TV and offering a reward for any information about her whereabouts.

Anything more than just . . . waiting. 

Because how could waiting find Felicity? 

The hotel detective had been conciliatory but firm. Since it had been less than twenty-four hours, there was nothing the police could or would do in this case. There was no evidence of any struggle in Felicity’s room: her suitcase was still there and her purse and phone was gone along with her. And the rental of a car, without any evidence of someone coercing her into that action, indicated she had left on her own volition. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, but the best thing for you to do at this point is sit tight,” the detective had said in conclusion.

It wasn’t the best thing. It was so far from the best thing. But he wasn’t in Starling, he didn’t have his hood and his bow, he didn’t have anything but his name and his money. And neither of those things were helping right now. So with a sinking heart, Oliver had just nodded. 

And now he waited. 

The only phone call he received was the restaurant, when the time of their dinner reservation came and went. He bitterly told them that the Queen party would not be joining them, accepting without question the gentle reminder that he would be charged the full price of the meal for not cancelling the reservation in advance. 

None of that mattered. Only Felicity mattered. 

He just . . . he wanted her here. Wanted to see her with his own eyes, to hold her and know that she was okay. He wanted her to be safe. With him. The longer he went without getting a response from her, the more scared he got of just what condition she might be found in. Because it was Felicity: punctual and responsible, caring and empathetic. She had to know what disappearing like this would do to him--would do to anyone who cared about her. 

If he had to do something like call her mother and tell her that Felicity was--

With a shake of his head, Oliver lifted his phone and called Felicity again. 

“Felicity, I swear to God, just call me,” he said as soon as her voicemail picked up. “I don’t care why you’re gone, I just need to know you’re okay, or else I’m gonna do something crazy and--and I need you safe, because I--”

A knock on the door made his throat close up. Not even looking at the screen, he jabbed at the end call button with his thumb as he darted to the door and flung it open, years of caution and vigilance thrown aside as he didn’t even bother checking the peephole. 

His legs nearly went out from under him when he saw Felicity, standing in front of him. _Felicity_ , with her ponytail a bit messy and her eyes red behind her glasses, but otherwise unharmed from what he could see. Unharmed and safe and _here_. 

“Oh, thank God,” he said brokenly, before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could. 

He gave in to nearly all his desires and pressed his face against her neck as he held her. Sucking in a few deep breaths, inhaling her scent and letting it soothe away the fear and worry and desperation he had been experiencing ever since he had discovered she was missing. Letting her presence soothe him, even as his body reacted to being close to her like this. Because the last time they were this close, there had been a lot more clothing between them. And no acknowledgement of his feelings for her. 

It was only then, after he had managed to start reassuring himself that she was okay, that he realized maybe she wasn’t. Because she wasn’t hugging him back. Her arms were at her sides. And her whole body was rigid with tension, particularly her shoulders and back. 

Pulling away but letting his hands lightly hold her upper arms, Oliver searched her face. “Felicity? Are you okay?” 

The last thing he expected her to do was let out a bitter, harsh laugh. “Am I okay?” She looked at him, her face like something carved from stone. “No, Oliver, I’m not okay.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling confused. 

She looked at him for a long moment, her chin lifted and her eyes hard. Oliver didn’t know what to make of this Felicity, this woman without the light and happiness he associated with her. He hadn’t thought it was possible for her to look at him with anything other than warmth in her eyes. 

“I know your secret.” 

Oliver blinked. Secret? What--

_She knew he was the Arrow._

For the second time that day, his whole body went cold. He was probably staring at her, his mouth open, but that didn’t matter. Not when his mind was reeling. 

Felicity was a genius who knew how to make computer systems do her bidding. She had figured out his connection with the _Tattler_ , apparently without even breaking a sweat. She had found out that Sara was the Canary. Why hadn’t he anticipated this? Why hadn’t he prepared for Felicity uncovering his secret identity?

His silence must have confirmed that she was right, because Felicity brought her hand up to her mouth, pressing her fingers against her lips as she shut her eyes for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and pushed past him into his room. “We are talking about this, now,” she said, facing him as he followed her in a daze. “You’re not going to charm me this time, Oliver--I won’t let you.” 

“F-Felicity,” he stuttered, trying to find something to say. Some way to explain himself. But he doubted ‘I was going to tell you tonight so you could decide whether you could love all of me’ would do anything to calm her anger. 

“No!” she said, her voice jumping up a few decibels. “You don’t get to talk. You get to listen. Because I am so _mad_ at you--so, so, so mad,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “Mad and disappointed and hurt! How could you do this to me, _again_? How could you lie to my face, after I finally came clean with you about the _Tattler_? You should have told me, because regardless of how you may or may not feel about me, Oliver Queen, I deserve to be treated with respect. And the lying and the hiding--that’s not respect and I--I’m done. I don’t want this!” 

She was crying. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, her shoulders were shaking and her voice was breaking. She was crying because of him.

But he was so utterly confused now. Because how had he lied to her about being the Arrow? And what did the _Tattler_ have to do with it?

“Felicity, I don’t--I don’t understand what you’re saying--” 

The look she gave him was so scathing that he stopped speaking. She huffed out a breath. “Are you _still_ not going to admit it?” 

“What am I supposed to be admitting?” he asked, stepping towards her, feeling his emotions fray. “Spell it out for me, Felicity!”

She glared up at him, giving him no quarter even as she swiped at one cheek, brushing away the tears. “You bought Ex Astris! You bought our publisher and made them buy my book, to take pity on poor broke Felicity, and now you’re paying my way on this tour--paying for everything like I’m some pauper! And I just--I don’t know why you did it and I sure as hell don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but I know now and I won’t let you keep lying to me, Oliver Queen!”

XXX

Her nose was clogged, her eyes were gritty and her skin felt clammy from the tears that had streaked down her face. Running on nothing but coffee and adrenaline, she could feel the shakes starting as her body began losing control. But she ignored that--ignored everything but Oliver. Who was so close to her, staring at her like he didn’t recognize her. Looking dumbstruck and . . . relieved? But also very, very worried. 

“Surprised I figured it out?” she prodded, putting her hands on her hips. Clutching at the fabric of her dress in order to hide the way her fingers felt like trembling. “The things I could figure out about you--you have no idea. And I should have. I should have torn your life apart, so I wouldn’t feel like this.” 

His tongue slowly slipped out from between his lips, moistening them, and Felicity felt her body flutter at the sight. Because she could never deny that Oliver was gorgeous--even at the height of her fury, she would have to admit that. But now was not the time to let an unconscious gesture turn her on. 

“How do you feel?” 

“How do you think, Oliver?” she said, unable to help the sarcastic tone in her voice. “I feel suckered! Taken! Like a fool! Irony of ironies, you can take the girl out of Vegas, but you can’t take the Vegas out of the girl. Anyone who lives here has gotten conned, even when they think they haven’t been. Even when they think they’re too smart to get conned. And that’s what you did to me--you conned me!” 

“No--no, Felicity, it’s not like that,” he said, his hands reaching for her upper arms again, like he had before, but clearly he thought better of it and pulled his hands back. Still, she took the smallest of steps away from him, just to be safe. She saw something flash through his eyes and he set his jaw. “I would never treat you like that.” 

Felicity scoffed. “Excuse me for not believing you. Because you’ve made it really hard to do that, Oliver. You’ve lied and you’ve prevaricated and you’ve spent so long with your head up your ass, you’re probably really familiar with your colon by now.” 

From the way his lips were pursed and his eyebrows drawn together, she knew Oliver was getting mad. She didn’t care, Felicity told herself. Maybe a good, honest fight was just what they needed right now, to get all of this crap out into the open. To stop dancing around each other, to stop living in gazes and sighs and just start being themselves, warts and all. 

“I might not have told you about Ex Astris,” Oliver began slowly, only for Felicity to interrupt him.

“ _Might_ not? You didn’t tell me at all!” 

He held a hand up. “Okay, I didn’t tell you!” he said. “I didn’t, because I knew you’d take it badly. But it had nothing to do with pitying you! I was _worried_ , damn it!” 

“And just what did you have to be worried about? I was fine, Oliver--it’s not like I was living on the street in a cardboard box!” she yelled at him. 

“Please--you think I didn’t see how closely you watched your money?” he said, surprising her by getting in her face. By meeting her challenge instead of trying to placate her. 

“I could see you do the math, every single time we met at Jitters, as you weighed everything out and decided whether to skip the extra shot or get the smaller coffee. Yet you never failed to give at least a fifteen percent tip to the barista. Who does that, Felicity?” He barely paused before continuing, holding his hands wide. “Nobody! So yeah, I was worried, especially once I knew more about publishing and started figuring out how little royalty money you had coming in.”

She felt the urge to wrap her arms around her midsection, to protect herself. To give herself a smidgen of defense against the emotions rocking her. Because how had he noticed that? She had no idea that her silent calculations were so obvious. Or that he had worried about her like that. Not--not that it made it right, what he had done . . . 

Swallowing, she tried to hold on to the anger. “I was fine, Oliver--” 

“Bullshit,” he said harshly. “If Ex Astris went under, if they stopped paying you your royalties, you’d be completely broke. And I couldn’t let that happen to you. I knew you’d never take money from me, even if I offered, even if it was just a loan.” He frowned, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face before he shook his head. 

“So . . . yeah,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “I bought Ex Astris. Technically, Tommy owns it--one of Merlyn Global’s subsidiaries is the name on the paperwork. But I have nothing to do with how the publisher runs itself, how they make their decisions on what to buy or not. I never have.” 

“It doesn’t matter how much control you have over Ex Astris, Oliver! You’re still supporting me--and you did it all in this underhanded, behind-my-back way!”

Oliver ran his hands over his face, frustration clear in every line of his body. “You are so stubborn! What was I supposed to do? Let you go broke? Get kicked out of your apartment, do something dangerous, just because you’re too proud to ask for help?” 

The frustration she felt at Oliver right now made her want to scream. How could he not see why she had a problem with this? With how he was underwriting her life? 

“This isn’t about pride, it’s about independence,” Felicity argued. “If I really needed help, I would have asked. But I didn’t ask because I knew I could handle it. I could find a way. And don’t go changing the subject. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. It’s about being honest with me, even when you think you won’t like the answers. That’s all I want--it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I keep telling you that, but you’re not listening to me.” 

“I am listening,” he insisted, getting closer to her. She refused to look away from him, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of her being the one to give any ground this time. Not when he was trying to intimidate her with his height and his shoulders and really, his whole body. 

“No, you’re not. Because you keep making the same mistakes, Oliver.” 

Was it her imagination, or had his eyes dropped to her lips? What the hell? She was angry at him, and he wasn’t too happy with her, either. She must be going crazy. Sucking in a breath quickly, she tried to gather up the anger again, tried to keep that fire burning in her belly. 

“Oh, yeah? What about you?” 

Felicity blinked. “What?” 

“You,” Oliver said, glaring at her. “With the running. Hiding from what’s bothering you, ignoring anything that doesn’t fit into how you think things should be.” 

“I’m not like that at all--” Felicity began, feeling a spark of indignation. 

“Yeah, you are,” he interrupted, his hands shooting out to grab her shoulders. “What the hell was today about, if it wasn’t about running? You _disappeared_ , Felicity, and I had no idea where you were, what had happened to you! Do you have any idea what I thought all afternoon, when I found out you were gone? I thought I was gonna have to call your mother, a woman I’ve never even met, and tell her you were _dead_!” 

His hands were holding her so tightly, Felicity knew she should be worried. But she wasn’t. She was something else entirely. But she shouldn’t--this wasn’t the time for--

But he looked so scared. Like the thought of her being dead was the worst thing he could imagine, something he couldn’t bear. With everything he had seen and experienced, that shouldn’t be possible. And Felicity didn’t understand how the vibe had changed from angry to this strange, shivery tension. But she couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t--

Why was her hand clutching his shirt? 

Oh, God, they were kissing. 

XXX

This wasn’t how he imagined kissing Felicity for the first time. Not in the middle of an argument, their emotions heightened and at odds with each other. Not when she didn’t know everything about him, although she thought she did.

But God damn it, he had been so fucking scared and he loved her and this was the worst idea, but he just--he needed to kiss her. Needed to do something with all these emotions, with all the words he wanted to say but couldn’t tell her yet. 

As soon as their lips met, that feeling of desperation he had been having ever since he saw her again faded away. Instead, he felt very deliberate. Very focused. His hands slid from her shoulders to hold her face as he kissed her, his lips pressing against hers. Trying to get closer, get deeper. There was a slight bitterness in her mouth, probably from coffee, but otherwise, it was just Felicity, he thought. Sweet, a little spicy, and absolutely addicting. 

Felicity’s hands were gripping his shirt, keeping him close. She gave as good as she got, kissing him back and then sucking on his lower lip. Oliver groaned and tilted her head so he had a better angle, now pressing his whole body against hers as he slid his tongue into her mouth. 

She was just so _soft_. Soft and warm and melting against him, even though they had been fighting not five minutes ago. He did his best to keep his hands from wandering over her too much, but the longer they kissed, the more he wanted to touch her. Because he didn’t want this to stop because Felicity didn’t like where he put his hands. 

The anger was mostly gone now. He was still upset with her for running off, even if he could kind of understand it. But there was still plenty of worry and concern. And he needed her to know that. Needed her to know just how crazy and not-himself she made him, how she did that in a way that stripped him down to his real, true self. To the Oliver he was supposed to be. 

And he had wanted to kiss her for weeks. Even before he admitted how he felt, he wanted to kiss Felicity. Feel her in his arms. And now that he had her here, with him, he didn’t know if he was going to be able to let her go. But with what he still had to tell her about his secret identity, with how they still didn’t have the Ex Astris issue resolved . . . 

This might be his only chance. So he was going to make this count. 

Oliver pressed her back against the nearest vertical surface. He kept kissing her, never letting up. Slowly, he let his hands trail over her, exploring how her waist dipped in on each side, then flared out into her hips. His fingers itched to cup her ass, but he held off, gripping her hips instead.

His body trembled unexpectedly when Felicity’s hands loosened in his shirt. Was she pulling away? No, she was--oh, God, she was _touching_ him. Lightly, teasingly, her fingertips traced the line of his pecs, then drifted down and stroked his abs through his shirt. 

Breaking away to suck in oxygen, Oliver moved his mouth to press kisses over Felicity’s face, along the line of her jaw, down her neck. He wanted more--he needed more--

One of Felicity’s hands moved up to cup the back of his head, drawing his lips back to hers. He kissed her with everything he had, everything he was trying to find a way to tell her. 

He had nearly told her in that last voicemail. Maybe he shouldn’t wait, maybe he should just tell her, make it happen in person instead of over the phone--

Gasping, Felicity pulled away from him. Her hands stopped stroking his torso and flattened against his chest. “Oliver, stop.” 

For a split-second, he considered shaking his head and leaning in for another kiss. Because he wasn’t ready for this to be over. But he didn’t. He just stared at her, panting like he had run a marathon and taking in how beautiful a just-kissed Felicity was. 

Her lips were red and slightly swollen, her hair was even messier now that his hands had been stroking her ponytail, and the flush extended from her hairline down her neck towards the collar of her dress. 

She was breathing hard as she looked up at him. He searched her face, trying to figure out why she had stopped. Trying to figure out what was going through her mind. 

“Felicity?” he asked finally, when he realized he couldn’t read her expression at all. When he realized his brain was still too fuzzy from kissing her and touching her to think properly.

“I--I just . . .” She pushed back on him a little and Oliver let himself be pushed away from her. Running a hand over her hair, she swallowed. “That’s not helping anything.” 

“I think it does,” he said softly, fighting the urge to take her hands and draw her back against him. “I think it helps a lot. With all kinds of things we’re trying to figure out.” 

With a sigh, Felicity moved away from the wall and away from him. “No, Oliver. We were--we were both angry and upset and emotional. It got the better of us.” 

Shaking his head, Oliver rubbed his hands against his jeans. “It wasn’t like that for me, Felicity.” 

“Then what was it like?” she said, her voice firm even as her fingers fidgeted with her glasses.

How could she even ask him that? Wasn’t it obvious to her? He had told her how upset he had been about her disappearing--it had been the last thing he said before they started kissing! She was just so . . . so oblivious to her appeal. To the attraction people felt to her. People like him. 

This wasn’t how he had planned to tell her. But his elaborate plans didn’t mean anything now. And honestly . . . he was tired of holding back. He was ready to start telling her the truth. But he couldn’t tell her everything. They were both still too worked up for him to calmly explain how he was the Arrow. 

But . . . but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell her how he felt. Couldn’t show her that he was listening. That he wanted to be honest. 

“Felicity,” he whispered, moving towards her. Feeling like his body was leaning in towards her, every bit of him wanting to be as close as possible to her. But he kept some space between them, so he could really see her face. Her eyes had already widened at his tone. “I know that nothing between us has been . . . simple.” 

She nodded. “No, it hasn’t been. And I don’t understand why. I--I mean, I always thought friendship was simple. You met someone, you liked spending time with them . . . easy.” 

Oliver licked his lips. “Maybe that’s why this isn’t easy.” 

“What?” Felicity asked, sounding very confused. 

“We’re not friends,” he said slowly, easing a little bit closer to her. “We’re not _just_ friends,” he corrected.

Her lips pursed, then she let out a frustrated-sounding groan. “Oliver, I am too tired for anything that isn’t simple.” 

“I love you. Is that simple enough?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Oliver wished he had taken a moment to think, like he normally did, instead of just reacting. Because--fuck, why did he just blurt it out like that? They hadn’t even gotten started and he was screwing this up. 

But it was too late, and he couldn’t take back his words. He wanted to take back how he said it, but . . . but he couldn’t take back his feelings.

And as he watched Felicity’s face, he couldn’t help hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d keep things as simple as he had.

XXX

No. What? No, he hadn’t said--

_“I love you. Is that simple enough?”_

Felicity turned her head away, so she didn’t have Oliver in her line of sight, and actually lifted a hand to one of her ears and rubbed it. Because she wasn’t sure she had actually heard Oliver say that. Because . . . because the last thing she had expected was for Oliver to just say how he felt, after all the hiding he had been doing. All the secrets he had kept, all the truths he held close to his chest. 

Over the last twenty-four hours, she had been fighting a constant battle between what she believed and what she knew. She believed that Oliver was her friend--and possibly more--and that he truly cared about her. But she knew that he had hidden things from her, things that impacted her life. So how could she balance her feelings with her thoughts? What was she willing to accept? She had already taken Oliver on trust more times than anyone else in her life, except maybe her mother. And yes, it had backfired on her, like with the _Tattler_ and now with Ex Astris. But there were a hundred more cases when her trust had been rewarded. When he had proven that he was what he appeared to be: a good man. 

But . . . but could she believe him now, when her mind was screaming that she couldn’t--shouldn’t--trust him? 

“Felicity? You--you’re not talking,” Oliver said, his voice carefully neutral. His voice drew her eyes to his, letting her see he wasn’t as calm as he was trying to sound. Contrary to what she would have expected, his fingers weren’t rubbing against each other, he wasn’t running his hands over his face or displaying the few nervous tics he allowed himself. No, he was holding himself very, very still. But he wasn’t able to control his eyes, which were churning with emotion. With so much emotion: hope, desire, concern, fear . . . love. 

If he was lying to her, this was the best lie he had ever told. 

And Felicity didn’t think he was lying. So that meant--he really did-- _oh my God_. 

Her knees felt very wobbly, like they weren’t able to support her. Which was understandable, since Oliver loved her and she had never thought that was possible-- 

Oh, God. 

“I--I just--one minute,” she said, holding a hand up and doing her best to get the words out around the boulder sitting on her chest. 

Oliver nodded slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets. Staying quiet and letting her freak out. 

Because--oh my God, _what_ was she going to do? 

She wasn’t sure if she should trust him, she wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she wanted to. She wanted to embrace all her hopes and dreams, accept this truth and kiss Oliver without anger and worry coloring the action. She wanted him to hold her, she wanted to run her hands over his frankly amazing shoulders, she wanted him--she _wanted_. So much.

But want wasn’t always right or good. It wasn’t the same as need. What did she need? She needed honesty. Equal footing. Trust. She needed to give and receive those things from whatever man she chose as her partner. And while she thought Oliver wanted to give her that, she wasn’t sure if he knew how to do it. Because it sure seemed like his respect and admiration for her crashed up against his stubbornness and his need for control. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t sympathetic to those aspects of Oliver. She understood why he wanted to keep a tight rein on his life. Could understand how feeling powerless made him feel, because she felt the same way sometimes. But a man that wanted to control her--that wasn’t what she needed. And she couldn’t let herself forget that, even as everything inside her wanted to tackle Oliver and pick up from where they left off. 

Swallowing, Felicity turned to face Oliver, who was shifting his weight back and forth. And were his hands balled into fists in his pockets? 

“So,” she said, her voice coming out high-pitched and squeaky. She cleared her throat. “So. You, um, you--” 

A smile flickered across his face for a moment. “I love you.” 

God, that sounded good. That sounded really, really good. She sucked in a breath, trying to gather together all her courage. “Okay. And--and that means . . . what?” 

He frowned. “It means I love you.” 

“No--what does it _mean_?” she asked, taking a step towards him. “Do you want to date me? To be my publisher? To be my friend? I mean, from the way you kissed me, I’m pretty sure you don’t love me like a sister, but you could be looking for a friends-with-benefits situation, which is fine, it’s cool, I just--I need to know what you mean when you say that you . . . that you love me.” 

Hearing the words in her own voice made her stomach flutter and her hands tremble. It was like it was more real. Or maybe it was just too close to her own feelings--the feelings she couldn’t think about right now.

Oliver took a breath. “It means . . . yes, I want to date you. I--I want to make this work.”

His voice was so earnest. Earnest and hopeful. It gave her a thrill to see how seriously he was taking this--this possibility of the two of them becoming a them. 

“I--I’d want that, too. If I was you, with the feelings you have,” Felicity said slowly, her words feeling clumsy on her tongue.

She could see the light fade from his eyes as her words sunk in. “What are you saying, Felicity?” he asked, a frown on his lips. 

“I’m saying . . . I’d like us to work, too. But--but how can it, if you’re not going to be honest with me?” she said, taking a tiny step towards him. “It can’t. We’d be in a race with a leg tied behind our backs, which--which doesn’t make any sense as a metaphor, but you get what I’m saying, right?” 

He looked so defeated as he nodded. Like all the hope inside him had shriveled up and died, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to think there was no chance, because--because there was. But was there a way she could give him hope while holding back? She wasn’t sure. 

“We--we still have all the events here, like the signings and the thing at UNLV,” Felicity said slowly. “Let--let’s just focus on finishing this tour strong, for the fans, and then--then we can figure out what’s going on with us.” Her words came a bit faster. “Because I’m already in this too deep, Oliver, and if I get hurt now, I--I might be able to recover someday. But if I got hurt down the road, after we became something more? I . . .” 

Her voice got choked for a moment and she had to let her voice trail off as she collected herself. As she faced the possibility of giving Oliver her heart and having him to break it. She couldn’t go into this without considering the possibility. She wasn’t impulsive with her heart. And she knew that if Oliver hurt her like that, she didn’t think she would be able to recover. 

His eyes, normally so blue and vivid, looked pale and washed-out. He nodded slowly. “Of . . . of course. Whatever you need, Felicity.” 

The way he hit upon the exact issue--what she needed, not what she wanted--made her throat close up. She nodded slowly, then hefted her tote and oh-so-carefully headed for the door, putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to think about how her heart already was hurting. 

“Felicity?” 

She had nearly made it. Her hand was on the doorknob, but as soon as he spoke, she stopped. Stopped and waited, not looking at him. Not sure she would be able to leave if she turned to see the expression on his face. 

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” His voice was low and uneven. Like he was struggling. Trying to shove his emotions down deep but not really succeeding. 

“I know, Oliver,” she whispered. 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, but if she started she would never stop. So Felicity slipped out of his room and moved her unsteady feet to her own room, where she could cry in private.

End, Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you can feel that there’s still hope for Oliver and Felicity after this. If the angst is too much for you, head over to my Tumblr later today for a fluffy ficlet or two! I’m dettiot there, too.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, the action from this chapter was going to be split over two parts. But not only did I think I could speed things up a little, but I didn’t want to torture myself, Oliver and Felicity, or y’all for that long. Hopefully you agree with me! Enjoy this week’s chapter and know we’re getting close to the end; my outline has two more chapters after this one. :-)

Oliver always used to think that if nothing else, the five years he spent in hell had taught him that exhaustion was relative. His first days on Lian Yu, he had never been so physically broken down from hunger and thirst and exposure. As his body grew stronger, he discovered the perils of mental exhaustion, the peeling away of softer things like ethics and mercy until he was nothing but steel. 

Yet all of that training hadn’t prepared him for the last day and a half. For how he felt right now, as he dragged himself back to his hotel room and wondered how, in spite of all his intentions, he had so totally wrecked the one thing he really wanted. 

What was the greater mistake: not confessing his role in Ex Astris earlier than the day before yesterday, particularly when she gave him a chance to do so when she asked about the Tattler? Or was it arguing with her when she had shown up at his room, instead of accepting everything she had said and throwing himself on her mercy? Definitely kissing her had been a mistake--a mistake of timing, if nothing else. 

But he couldn’t let himself believe that telling her he loved her was a mistake. Because it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, if he wanted to have any hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to repair what he had broken. 

Even if he had no idea how to fix things.

Felicity certainly wasn’t ready to listen to him yet. And unfortunately, that made things very awkward between them, because they had been together nearly non-stop since their fight. There had been several signings yesterday, culminating with a Rotary dinner honoring Felicity with the key to the city. He hadn’t been able to duck out of attending, since he had been asked to make a few remarks at the start of the dinner. This morning, they had spoken to students at UNLV about writing, sharing their different paths to publication. 

Through it all, Felicity was . . . reserved. Quiet. Withdrawn into herself, with none of her babble or smiles. Not for him, that is--of course she wouldn’t disappoint her fans, so she was her amazing, cheerful, giving self with them. 

And it made him feel incredibly envious. That they got to have Felicity’s warmth, her light, shining over them, while he was out in the cold. Which was probably a sign of how much he wasn’t the right man for her, since he had no one to blame for his current situation but himself. 

As part of refusing to disappoint her fans, Felicity had made arrangements to make up for the signing she had missed, by going to the bookstore to sign copies of her book. “You--you don’t have to come, Oliver,” she had said when telling him about her afternoon plans. 

It sounded like she didn’t want him to come, but at the same time, it was like she wanted to see how he would react. He was ready to assure her that he would be happy to come along, but then he paused. Maybe a break from each other was needed. Maybe this way, he’d be able to figure out what to do. 

So he had nodded, and tried to smile, even though every smile since two nights ago had felt pained and forced. Like they used to feel in the days after he had returned from the island. 

“Okay, sure,” he had said, before helping her get a cab to the bookstore. As soon as the cab pulled away from the curb, Oliver felt his shoulders drop and he started trudging towards his room. But then he changed directions and headed to one of the hotel bars. He couldn’t bear the thought of the quiet in his room right now. 

With a glass of scotch in front of him, Oliver sank down on his bar stool. He knew what he wanted to do: convince Felicity that he was changing--that he had changed. That for her, he would keep working on his flaws. Like learning how to stop holding back, welcoming her to be part of his decisions and choices. Proving that he loved her. 

He just didn’t know how to do that. Not when she kept him at arm’s length like this. He didn’t know how to break through to her. If it was just about her being angry with him, he might be able to find a way. But he couldn’t help sensing that it wasn’t just about her being angry. There was a healthy amount of disappointment, of course. Which in some ways was worse than anger. But more than that . . . it seemed like she was embarrassed, too. 

Because of the kiss. Or what he had said. Or both. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Oliver took a sip of his scotch. Maybe . . . maybe he needed to get out of his head. Talk to someone about this. Which was probably a sign of how hopeless everything felt, if he was willing to concede defeat in finding an answer on his own. And he didn’t want to feel hopeless. There was still hope, wasn’t there? Felicity hadn’t totally shut him down or told him to leave her alone. She had just . . . pressed pause. Like he had, before the tour, when he had asked her for time. 

But he didn’t know if it was like that. He felt like he didn’t know anything. 

Oliver slowly pulled his phone out and scrolled through his contacts. Normally, he would call Tommy. But right now . . . that seemed like the wrong choice. Too likely to end badly, because it would be very easy to blame Tommy for what happened. And he wasn’t the one who hadn’t told Felicity about Ex Astris. 

That was Oliver’s fault. 

Decision made, he pressed the contact for Diggle and waited for him to pick up. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Digg,” Oliver said, clearing his throat a little. “Is this a bad time?” 

There was a pause, and then Digg spoke, his voice easy-going and relaxed. “Not at all. It’s good to hear from you, man.” 

“Not something you’ve been able to say this last month, I know. About hearing from me, I mean,” Oliver said clumsily. 

“Yeah, but we all knew how it was gonna be when you left.”

“Did you?” Oliver wasn’t really sure what Digg was getting at and it has him curious.

“Tommy and Sara and I, we kinda agreed--without talking about it, you understand--that you deserved to have this month to yourself. You had some things to work out.” 

He can’t help huffing out a bitter laugh. “And I did a great job doing that, Digg.” 

“What happened, Oliver?” Digg asked.

His voice was free of judgement. It was just what he needed. So Oliver started talking. Explaining how he discovered Tommy’s part in arranging the tour, Felicity’s knowledge about the _Tattler_ deal, their fight two nights ago, his realization of his feelings for Felicity. 

That last detail made Digg make a little sound that he doesn’t understand, and Oliver had to ask. “What does that mean?”

“For someone who broods as much as you do, it took you a hell of a long time to figure out how you felt about Felicity,” Digg said. “I get that you might think you’re not much of a catch, but . . . c’mon, don’t you have eyes? Even I saw how Felicity looked at you, and I’ve only met the girl a few times.” 

“Just because she--she might have looked at me in a certain way, but it didn’t mean I--” Oliver stopped and swallowed. “I told her. That I love her.” 

There’s a long silence, then Digg let out a soft whistle. “That’s . . . that’s ballsy.” 

“It was a mess,” Oliver said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I had it all planned out: gourmet dinner, wine, explaining to her who I really am . . .”

“Okay, I stand corrected. _That’s_ ballsy,” Digg said, sounding impressed. 

“It didn’t happen like that. I blurted it out in the middle of the fight. Without telling her about the Arrow. But I can’t risk losing her, Digg,” Oliver said, hearing how bleak his voice sounded. “If she found out later on, about what I do, who I am . . . it would be over.” 

If nothing else, their fight had shown him that his instincts on that issue had been right. He had to tell her about this night-time activities, because she deserved to know the whole truth about him. 

“At least that way, I’d know she’d be choosing me. All of me. But now? With how I screwed things up? I don’t know how to fix this and--and I have to. I have to make this better, Digg,” Oliver said, his voice just above a whisper. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow of his scotch.

“You can, Oliver,” Digg said. “You just have to fight for her.” 

There was something Digg’s voice that made Oliver think of that night in the Foundry when Diggle had talked about his ex-wife and what had happened between them. 

“I know. I do want to fight,” Oliver said, staring down into his glass. “I just don’t know how.”

Digg snorted. “Please. You know. If there’s one thing you know how to do, Oliver, it’s fight.” 

Oliver was ready to retort when he snapped his mouth shut. Because . . . Digg was right. He _does_ know how to fight. 

And with Felicity on the line? He’ll find a way to win this fight. Even if she decided she didn’t want him, he was going to make the effort. Step up to the line and put his heart in the ring. 

XXX

As she drove her rental into the trailer park, Felicity took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she had been back here, yet not much had changed. The trailers were more weathered from the harsh desert sun, the sign welcoming you to the Sands Trailer Village had lost a few more light bulbs, and the scraggly weeds still fought for purchase in the loose, sandy ground. 

And her mother was standing on the tiny deck that led to the front door of her trailer, wearing a short dress and high heels. 

“Felicity!” Donna Smoak squealed, bounding down the four steps from the deck and hugging Felicity as soon as she stepped out of the car. 

Closing her eyes, Felicity hugged Donna back tightly. No matter how different they were, Felicity had always loved her mother. Because she knew Donna loved her. And right now, she needed some unconditional love. 

Donna pulled back and gave Felicity a long look. Felicity braced herself for the questions, for the comments about her appearance. Because she knew she looked tired and pale. Barely sleeping the last three nights took a lot out of your looks. But to her surprise, Donna just smiled, pulled Felicity’s hand into the crook of her arm, and practically dragged her up onto the deck and into the trailer. “Come in, come in, nothing’s changed since the last time you were here. You want some lemonade? We could throw some gin in them and have a poor woman’s Tom Collins.” 

She had to laugh a little. “You know, that sounds great, Mom. And you look amazing.” 

Running a hand over her hair--so much thicker and softer-looking than Felicity’s own--Donna smiled widely at Felicity. “Thank you, baby girl. C’mon, sit down and let me spoil you a little.” 

It wasn’t hard to hear the unsaid words--that she looked bad and needed some coddling--which made Felicity fidget a little. “While I’m here, I should fix your computer, since you said it was running slow. You probably just need to remove the temp files and run a virus scan. Although maybe the hard drive needs to be defragged--that would definitely improve the performance--”

“Felicity, I’ve gotta leave for work in an hour. I don’t want you to spend all your time here futzing about with my computer. Don’t worry, I can get Jimmy from next door to take a look,” Donna said, pushing Felicity down into one of the red vinyl chairs that matched the metal table in the trailer’s tiny kitchen. “Now sit and we’re gonna talk.” 

“Mom . . .” Felicity said, hunching over a little. “I . . .” 

Her mother gave her a long look, making Felicity press her lips together. Donna turned to take a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and a bottle of gin out of the freezer. She mixed their drinks, then took a jar of maraschino cherries and added a cherry to each drink. “Because it’s not a real drink without a garnish,” Donna said, carrying the drinks over to the table. She plopped one down in front of Felicity and then sat across from her. “Drink up, Felicity.” 

For a moment, Felicity felt tears sting her eyes. It was all so . . . normal. For years, Felicity’s mother had been making them drinks like this. Of course, the gin had been a recent addition, but Felicity had lost track of how many glasses of orange juice and lemonade they had shared at this table, always garnished with a cherry or an orange slice. It took her back, to being the girl who just wanted to get out of Vegas, who wanted to be successful and have a life different from her mother’s. 

Well, she had gotten out of Vegas and crafted a successful career for herself. But she was no different from her mother, because here she was, totally wrapped up in a man who couldn’t--who wouldn’t--be there for her. 

_Oliver is nothing like Dad._

She wouldn’t listen to that little voice, so Felicity picked up her glass and took a long swallow. When she lowered her glass, Donna was gazing at her. 

“Oliver says he loves me, but he’s lied to me,” Felicity said in a rush, wrapping her hands tightly around her glass. “He . . . he bought our publisher. He’s been paying my way throughout this whole tour without telling me about it. He--he _knows_ how I feel about honesty, and--and he did all this, and I--I--”

Felicity sank her teeth into her lower lip, the spike of pain forcing back the tears that were threatening to overflow. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. 

Her mother’s hand touched her shoulder and started a gentle rubbing motion. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, baby girl.” 

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s too much, it--” 

She was about to say that it hurt too much, but Donna’s hand clutched Felicity’s shoulder and gave her a little shake, making her eyes open. 

“Felicity, please.” Donna’s voice was pleading. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t hide like this.” 

Oliver’s words from their fight popped into her head. “ _With the running. Hiding from what’s bothering you, ignoring anything that doesn’t fit into how you think things should be_.” 

It made her feel like there’s a rock on her chest. She can’t catch her breath and she started panting. Donna’s eyes went wide, then she leaned forward. “Felicity. Deep breaths. Like this.”

Donna breathed in slowly, then exhaled just as slowly. Felicity focused on Donna’s mouth, watching the air get sucked in and blown out, and her heart started to slow into a more normal rhythm. 

“I’m gonna call out from work,” Donna said. “You and me, we’ll get this figured out.”

“No, no--I can’t ask you to do that, Mom,” Felicity said, grabbing Donna’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “I just--I’ll stay here tonight and we can have breakfast together in the morning when you get back. And . . . and we can get started, at least, until you have to go.” 

“Are you sure? Toni owes me big, I can get her to cover my shift,” Donna said, searching Felicity’s face.

Pasting on a smile that she didn’t fully feel, Felicity nodded. “I’m sure. I’ll call Sara and talk to her, if that makes you feel better.” 

The relief was so evident in her mother’s face that Felicity felt so small. She had only said that to reassure her mother--she hadn’t really meant to call Sara, but . . . she had been avoiding her best friend during the whole tour. Not wanting to face the teasing--or the hard truths that Sara would make her face. Hiding from whatever she didn’t want to face. Just like she had with Oliver, like she had tried with her mother. 

“That’s good, Felicity,” Donna said, squeezing her hand back. “And I’d love to have you stay here. Your old room’s still the same, although it’s a bit musty in there probably . . .” 

“It’s fine, Mom,” Felicity said, managing to smile. “I’ll air it out some tonight. I just want to curl up on the couch and watch bad TV after I talk to Sara.” She took a sip of her drink, feeling the alcohol loosen a tiny bit of the tension in her chest. “Now tell me how you’re doing. You got the check I sent you?”

“I did,” Donna said, beaming at Felicity. “You’re a lifesaver, baby girl. I was able to get the truck fixed, got a new window AC unit . . .” 

The next forty-five minutes passed easily as Felicity slowly began to relax. By the time Donna left for work, with a kiss on Felicity’s cheek and an ultra-tight hug, she was finally starting to feel less shaky, more like herself.

Which meant it was time to call Sara. 

Felicity spent five minutes staring at her phone, working up the nerve. Finally, she pressed her thumb against Sara’s contact and held the phone up to her ear.

“Oh my God, Felicity!” Sara’s voice was full of excitement. “I’m so glad you called.” 

The unrestrained enthusiasm in her friend’s voice, even after Felicity had been such an awful friend, made Felicity press her lips together. “H-hi,” she said weakly, hearing her voice tremble. 

“Felicity?” Sara said, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oliver--” Damn it, she was crying again. Felicity reached up and quickly wiped the tears away. “I hope you have some time to talk.” 

“I have all the time in the world,” Sara said, her voice going soft. “What happened? It’s something with Oliver?” 

She nodded, even though Sara couldn’t see her. “Yeah . . . I don’t know where to start. Other than--other than he says he loves me.” 

There was an intake of breath, and then Sara said, “Okay, start from the beginning. You said before the tour started, he told you he needed some time to figure things out . . .”

And so Felicity began talking.

XXX

“Mr. Queen!” 

Oliver drew up short at the sound of someone calling his name. He had been walking past the front desk on his way to the elevators, to head to his room and start planning his method of attack. Well, no, not attack. He didn’t want to attack Felicity. Except in the metaphorical sense. 

God, she was still rubbing off on him, even now. Soon he would be babbling aloud. 

Turning, he saw one of the concierges walking over to him. “Mr. Queen, we received a package for you. I left a message in your room’s voice mailbox, but since you’re here now, I thought I would tell you in person.” 

The concierge--Cassie, he remembered--was clearly nervous with the way she was talking so fast. It reminded him of Felicity, which made it ever so slightly easier to just nod and give her a small smile, before following her to take the box that had arrived for him.

“Thank you,” Oliver said, looking down at the box and wondering what it was. He didn’t even wait to get to his room; he set the package down on the floor of the elevator and tore it open. 

It was his book. The final, finished copies. 

Drawing in a breath, Oliver felt a pang in his chest. So this was it: the moment he got to hold his actual book. Lifting up one of the copies, he lightly smoothed his fingers over the cover. Touching it, holding it, made this all seem real. The hours of work, spent agonizing over each and every word, debating what to say and how to say it. 

He was an author. He, Oliver Queen, had done something that mattered. It was different from his work as the Arrow--the Arrow was more of a symbol than a man. Anyone could be the Arrow, anyone could do what he did when they wore the hood. Or even without a hood, as Diggle and Tommy had proved in helping him. But this? This was something that came from him, from Oliver. 

There was a kind of pride, a feeling of satisfaction, at what he had accomplished as the Arrow. He was always aware of his failures, but most of the time he knew he had done some good. But this? Holding his book? It was a different kind of pride. 

The ding of the elevator drew Oliver out of his head. Tucking the copy he was holding under his arm, he scooped up the box and hurried off the elevator. Once he was in his room, he flipped open the book he was carrying to the dedication page. 

And there it was. 

_I survived so much, but now I live thanks to F. This book is yours as much as it’s mine._

Seeing the words in black and white, the ones that barely captured what he felt for Felicity yet came the closest out of all his drafts, made Oliver breathe deeply. Because they were true and honest, because they were from his heart, because now there was a poignancy to them that hadn’t existed before. 

Because if he couldn’t fix things with Felicity, he didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t know if he would even be able to survive, let alone live.

Oliver squared his shoulders. If that was his fear, then he better make sure he pulled out all the stops. Held nothing back with Felicity now. Put everything on the table, in the hope that she could forgive him one more time. Because if she did, he would make sure she would never have to do that ever again.

And having this resolution, this determination, lightened his spirits. Sure, he was nervous as hell. Because what if it wasn’t enough for Felicity? What if she wasn’t willing to give them a chance? But something about knowing he wasn’t going to hold back or guard himself--he was going to let down his walls--made him feel . . . free. Like he never had before. Not even before the island had he been willing to be this vulnerable.

And he knew one way to show Felicity his desire to be vulnerable to her was by giving her this copy of his book. He would do that when he recreated his original plan: dinner at Robuchon’s, complete with a full confession of just what kind of man he was. 

The first order of business was calling the restaurant and making the same arrangements as before. Oliver didn’t bat an eyelash at the staff’s polite refusal to reserve their private room to him again; he just offered to pay double, then triple, which finally did the trick. He also added on several premium options and made some additional requests, like sending them a copy of his book to place in the private room, which the restaurant was happy to fulfill with what he was willing to pay. 

The money didn’t matter, although he did wonder if this would be too overwhelming for Felicity--if she would think he was trying to buy her. But this was the kind of behavior he wanted to show her on occasion. He had money and he would want to spend it on her sometimes. Just like he was going to tell her about being the Arrow so she knew if she wanted to start a relationship with the man under the hood, she deserved to know what it meant to date Oliver Queen. Because Oliver wanted to know that he could spoil Felicity, pamper her in ways she would have never thought of, let alone put into words. 

And just the thought of Felicity actually forgiving him and wanting him to give her some of life’s luxuries was enough to make his palms start sweating. But he was getting ahead of himself. And he had a difficult phone call to make. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to call me, ever since Digg told me what happened,” Tommy said, his voice quiet and full of remorse. “I am so sorry, Oliver.” 

“It’s not your fault, Tommy. It’s mine,” Oliver said, pacing slowly as he spoke to his best friend. “I was the one who didn’t tell Felicity when I had the chance.” 

“Still, I got way too involved.”

“Maybe,” Oliver said. “But I should have told her and I didn’t, and now I have to deal with the consequences.” 

“That sucks,” Tommy said simply. “I wish I hadn’t meddled now, with setting up the tour and everything. I just knew how you felt about her, man, and I wanted to help. Felicity’s really good for you.” 

He can feel his lips tug upwards in a small smile. “She is. Probably why I love her.” 

“Yeah, uh-huh--wait,” Tommy said, sounding shocked. “You love Felicity?” 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, feeling his smile grow. “I do.” 

“Holy shit, who are you and what have you done with Oliver Queen?” Tommy asked, laughing. “I didn’t think you’d ever admit how you felt about Felicity. I mean, I thought you knew how you felt and just didn’t want to be happy.” 

Looking down at his feet, Oliver shrugged. “I just . . . I knew how I felt after I almost kissed her. And then we were fighting, and we . . .” 

“You what?” Tommy asked, sounding like he already knew what Oliver was going to say. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Oliver said, deciding he didn’t want to get distracted by rehashing what had happened. “And that’s all you’re getting, because that’s not why I’m calling.” 

“Tease. Okay, okay, so why are you calling?” 

Oliver took a deep breath. “I know I already threw you under the bus, by telling Felicity about Ex Astris and how you set up the tour. But I wanted to tell her that she should talk to you if she wanted to know more about how it all happened. In case she wanted to hear it from someone other than me.” 

“Ollie, seriously?” Tommy said with a snort. “Of course she can talk to me. But really, if you can’t convince her on your own, no one can. What’s your plan?” 

“Did you ever think we’d be sitting around, talking about how to hold on to a woman instead of how to dump her?” Oliver asked, feeling the need to acknowledge this moment. Because until now, neither of them had ever really wanted a real, honest relationship with a woman. 

Tommy chuckled. “Face it, Queen, you’re getting old.” 

“You’re four months older than me,” Oliver said with a small grin. “Look, I need to go.” 

“You didn’t tell me what the plan is!” Tommy said. 

Oliver paused. It had felt good to talk to Tommy like this. Lighten up for a few moments. But now he was thinking about tomorrow night, and all that he had to do, all that he had to say . . . He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let Tommy in on the details. Not yet. “Yeah, I know,” Oliver said. “But I’m good. I’ve got it under control.” 

“Flowers. Lots of flowers. Felicity seems like the type who’d like flowers.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Oliver said, smiling a little. “We’re supposed to be back in Starling the day after tomorrow. I’ll call you.” 

“Good luck,” Tommy said before hanging up. 

Lowering his phone, Oliver rubbed his thumb against the gadget. He definitely could use some good luck.

His eyes were suddenly caught by the time on his phone. It was nearly seven. And he didn’t know where Felicity was. He felt his breath catch as the fear and worry overtook him. 

She hadn’t called him or texted him. Clearly, she wanted to be left alone. But . . . but he needed to know if she was okay. Or safe, at least. 

Hesitantly, he composed a text message to Felicity, mulling over several different options before he finally found something he thought would do the job. He spent so long staring at it, debating using proper punctuation or not, whether to add an emoticon or not, that the words stopped making sense and he finally hit ‘send’ out of a desire to just have it be done. 

_Hope your signing went well. Guess you’re getting dinner on your own--but can we have dinner tomorrow? I think we need to talk. Please, Felicity._

XXX

“He said he didn’t want to hurt me, and I said I knew, and then I left,” Felicity said, taking a deep breath. “And ever since then, we’ve been like two strangers. I know he’s upset and unhappy, but I just can’t get past all the lies.” 

Sara made a little noise of understanding. “Of course you’re struggling with that.” 

Felicity shifted, taking up a new position on the lumpy-yet-strangely-comfortable couch in the trailer. She had spent years in this very spot, reading or working on homework or watching TV. And now, she was talking to her best friend on the phone about the boy that broke her heart. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Felicity said softly. “Because what he says and what he does, they don’t make any sense. And I get that the island changed him--I know it did. But there’s only so far I can let that justification go, you know? When can I stop excusing things and start holding him accountable for the things he does?” 

“I think it comes down to how much you love him. The more you love him, the more you need to be the person to call him on his bullshit.” Sara paused. “You do love him, right?” 

Picking up her glass of lemonade--without gin, although it had been tempting--Felicity took a few sips, needing a moment. Because wasn’t that what it all came down to? 

Did she love Oliver? Yes, she did. But how much did she love him? Enough to take the risk of being utterly devastated if this ended? Enough to be that person in his life, the one he could depend upon, the person who would support him but also tell him when he was wrong?

Enough to tell him how she felt, after everything he had already put her through? 

“Felicity?” 

“Yeah, Sara, I’m here,” she said, wrapping her free arm around herself. “Just . . . trying to find the words.” 

“Not something you’re used to doing,” Sara said with a gentle laugh. “Words come easily to you.” 

She cracked a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. Felicity is speechless, very funny.” 

“Well, it kinda is. But also, it’s making me worry. Because if you don’t know if you love Ollie . . .” Sara said cautiously, letting her voice trail off. 

“I do.” 

The words just slipped out. Like a pebble falling into a lake and creating ripples. She hadn’t expected them to be so easy to say, but there had been something in Sara’s voice that made her want to confess. To say the words out loud for the first time, to get used to saying them so if she wanted to say them to Oliver, she could. Without hesitation. 

“I love him,” Felicity said, gripping the phone tightly. “I really do. I love Oliver. Not because he’s gorgeous or rich or charming, but because . . . he rubs his thumb against his fingers when he’s nervous. He likes black coffee. He gets this crinkle in his forehead, just a little wrinkle, when he’s confused and trying to figure something out. He’s incredibly loyal. He’s the first one to see good in other people and the last one to see it in himself. And when he looks at me, I feel like the rest of the world vanishes and it’s just me and him and--and--” 

The tears were pouring down her cheeks. Felicity pulled her glasses off and covered her face with her hand. 

“Shhh, Felicity, it’s okay,” Sara said, her voice low and soothing. “It’s okay. It’s great.” 

“No, it’s not,” Felicity said brokenly. “Because I love him and I want to be with him. We--we could be so good together, but . . .”

“But he’s lied to you.” 

Wiping away the tears, Felicity took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, he has. More than once. And he’s avoided issues and dodged questions and--I just don’t know if he’s ready for this. Ready for a relationship.” 

“Hmm,” Sara murmured, sounding lost in thought. 

“Hmm?” Felicity asked, frowning a little. “What does that mean?”

“I was just thinking that maybe it’s you who feels not ready,” Sara said slowly. “I mean, maybe you’re even more scared of being in a relationship than Oliver is, and you’re getting hung up on the honesty thing--not that you aren’t right to be concerned about that--but you’re using that as an excuse to avoid your own issues.” 

Felicity blinked, feeling her stomach drop. “What the hell, Sara?” she retorted, shoving her glasses on and then yanking away a hank of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and gotten stuck between her glasses and her face. “This is about Oliver lying to me. All the time.” 

“Hey, you don’t have to get angry, Felicity--I’m just trying to say, you need to consider--”

“Hold on!” Felicity snapped, putting the phone down so she could wrestle her hair back into order. And so she could take a moment to push down the anger. Because . . . it wasn’t fair that Sara was making this about her. She wasn’t the one with the problems here!

But . . . it was about her problems. Kind of. 

Stopping with her hands holding her hair, Felicity closed her eyes and sighed. She hadn’t dated anyone for years. It had been even longer since she had been in an actual relationship. So maybe Sara was right and some of this anxiety and hesitation wasn’t just about Oliver, but about her, too. 

And that was probably why she had put off talking to Sara about this. Because Sara would call her on her crap. Friends did that. And also . . . lovers. Just like Sara said someone would need to do for Oliver.

God, lovers was an awful word. There had to be a better one. Other half? Maybe. Partner? Better, but still not right. 

“Felicity?”

Sara’s voice was tinny and distant, coming from the phone. And also pretty panicked. Realizing that she had been staring off into space, Felicity said loudly, “Just a second!” as she quickly wrapped the holder around her ponytail.

As she lifted up her phone, her thumb brushed over the display and woke the screen, revealing that she had received a text message. 

From Oliver. 

In a daze, Felicity put the phone to her ear. “I got a text from Oliver.” 

“What does it say?” Sara asked immediately. 

“Let me--I have to read it,” Felicity said, quickly lowering the phone to tap on the text icon. 

_Hope your signing went well. Guess you’re getting dinner on your own--but can we have dinner tomorrow? I think we need to talk. Please, Felicity._

She stared at it, reading the message over and over until the words stopped making sense. 

Her hand was shaking a little as she brought the phone back to her ear. “He wants to have dinner with me, tomorrow night. He says we need to talk.” 

“What does he say exactly?” 

Felicity put the phone on speaker and read the message to Sara. There was a long pause, then Sara said, “Well, it’s not exactly groveling . . .” 

“I don’t need that,” Felicity said, chewing on her lower lip. “I just . . . it sounds like he’s holding back so much.” 

“Well, yeah--he’s not going to apologize in a text message. Oliver’s not like that anymore,” Sara said. “And I kinda think this is one of those conversations you have to have face-to-face.” 

It had been hard enough being around Oliver the last two days. They had just made small talk, interacting only when it was necessary. The thought of having an open, in-depth conversation with him . . . it made her stomach drop. 

“Y-yeah?” she asked slowly, trying not to sound nervous.

Sara’s voice was sympathetic. “Yeah. Felicity, you’re gonna have to see him and hear him out before you can decide if you should give him a chance. And I think Oliver gets that, since he’s saying he wants to talk.” 

She didn’t know what to say. Pulling her knees in against her chest, Felicity wrapped her arm around them. After the silence had stretched out for a few moments, she heard Sara sigh.

“Look, I’m gonna tell you something that I was trying not to talk about, since I don’t want it to tip your hand. And this is such a rom-com cliché, I know. But I’ve known Ollie for a long, long time. I’ve never seen him look at someone like he looks at you. And when he talks about you . . . it’s like you’re everything to him.” 

Resting her chin on top of her knees, Felicity sighed. “That’s nice, but . . .”

“But it’s not enough,” Sara said. “I get it. And that’s why you should go to dinner with him. Make him spill the beans and tell you what you need to know. See how he reacts and if that’s enough for you.” 

Sighing again, Felicity looked down at her purple-polished toes gripping the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m scared,” she whispered. 

“I know, Felicity,” Sara said, just as quietly. “But do you really want to let fear hold you back from this? From Oliver?” 

Felicity closed her her eyes as her free hand went to the left side of her neck, touching her scar. For so long, her fears had centered around her attack. Being scared of how helpless and small she felt, being scared of her attacker, being scared of never recovering. Over time, she had learned to live with those fears. Had even gone a long way towards conquering them--her actions the night she was harassed at the bookstore showed that. But it meant that the more common fears she possessed--of being left behind, of failing--hadn’t gotten the same kind of attention. They had been allowed to exist because they were quiet. Existing in the background. Now that they were rearing their ugly heads, though, she didn’t know how to face them.

But she had to do it. Because no matter how scared or hurt or disappointed she was in Oliver . . . she couldn’t give up yet. Not before she saw him, not before she got him to explain himself. Only then would she know what to do. 

XXX

When he woke at five in the morning after a few hours of uneasy sleep, to find that there was still no response to Felicity, Oliver was ready to cancel everything and just leave Las Vegas. Maybe she just needed more time, maybe he just had to be more patient. 

He didn’t know what to do. And he was really getting tired of feeling like this. 

A grueling session in the hotel’s gym, pushing his body to the limit, wasn’t enough to purge the feelings and leave him calm enough to make a decision. Instead, he still felt tied up into knots, only now with exhaustion on top of it. A hot shower helped a little with the physical pain, but did nothing for his emotional turmoil. 

And then he walked out of the bathroom, and picked up his phone. He had a text from Felicity.

_okay. dress code? time and place?_

Oliver stared at the words, trying to get his mind to work. She--she said okay? It was so amazing and overwhelming that it took him a minute to grasp the practical questions she was asking.

_formal. is that okay? reservation is for eight, so meet at seven-thirty in the lobby?_

_okay. see you tonight._

Well, that was all . . . civil. Very civil. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He was expecting her to ask questions. Or refuse outright, given how he had messed everything up. But this simple acceptance--what did it mean?

Could she . . . could she be ready to forgive him?

Standing there in just a towel, his phone in his hand, Oliver let himself do something he rarely did. He let himself daydream. Imagining that he was able to explain himself to Felicity, that she would accept all the sides of himself and forgive the mistakes he had made. And then, he would kiss her, slowly, softly. Not like two days ago, when they were both angry. No, this kiss would be . . . special. The start of something amazing. 

When his phone rang, he actually startled in surprise, nearly dropping his phone. That was how deep he had let himself fall into his imagination. Swallowing, feeling his cheeks go red even though he was totally alone, Oliver checked the display and frowned a little. 

Why was Sara calling him?

“Hello? Sara, is anything wrong?”

“Oh my God, Ollie, how _could_ you?” Sara’s voice was full of anger and frustration. “What were you thinking, telling Felicity you love her?”

“You’ve talked to Felicity? Is she okay? What did she say?” Oliver gripped the phone tightly, feeling impatient and nervous. 

Sara snorted. “Focus, Oliver! You are jerking around my best friend. It’s a good thing you’re in Vegas, because if you were here I’d punch you in your face.” 

“Hey!” Oliver said, feeling his anger spark. “I know you’re Felicity’s best friend, but that doesn’t mean you get to stick your nose in this. You don’t know what has happened, what I’m planning.” 

“Then tell me,” Sara said. “Make me believe you’re not about to break her heart.” 

He was ready to snap at her again, tell her to mind her own damn business, but . . . he’s known Sara a long time. She knows him. So of course she would be worried about Felicity, with all the dirt she has on him. And maybe . . . maybe this was another chance to work on how he kept holding back. But that didn’t mean he wanted to have Sara involved in his relationship with Felicity in the future, if they did have one. 

“This is a one-time thing,” he said firmly. “If Felicity and I end up together, you don’t get to do this again.” 

There was a long pause, then Sara spoke quietly. “Look, I’m Felicity’s friend and I’m your friend. I want to be on both sides, but I spent three hours on the phone with Felicity last night. Three hours, Ollie. So I’m a little biased right now.” 

“Look, you should be on Felicity’s side. I’m the one to blame,” Oliver said, pacing around his room. “I . . . I lost my head. I held back, I--I lied. I didn’t follow my plan.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a plan. Have you ever had a plan when it comes to a woman?” Sara asked, sounding less angry and more amused.

“No. Which is why I’m already screwing things up,” Oliver said. “If I tell you, you won’t go calling Felicity and warning her?” 

Before she could answer, Oliver said quickly, “Wait, never mind. That’s not fair of me to ask that of you. Look, let me tell you what I had in mind, and you . . . you do what you want with the information.”

“Stop stalling. What’s your plan, Ollie?” 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver laid out the plan. Intimate dinner with the best food and wine, flowers, a copy of his book for her to read, and the truth. Starting with how he was the Arrow and then answering any questions that Felicity had, all the while hoping she would forgive him. 

Sara didn’t say anything once he finished speaking. He waited, feeling his nerves grow more and more, until finally, he had to say something. “Sara? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Wow, Oliver.” 

“Wow? Is that a good wow?” Oliver asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“Oh, it’s a good wow. You’re really going to tell her? About being the Arrow?” Sara sounded strangely hesitant. And surprised. 

He spoke quietly. “Yeah. That was the original plan. I was going to tell her everything about me, starting with the Arrow and ending with how I feel about her. I just . . . she vanished, and I had no idea where she was, and I was so scared. So when she came back, upset and yelling at me, I got angry, too. And then we were kissing, and . . . and I told her.” 

It felt good to explain himself to Sara. Not just because she was Felicity’s friend. He didn’t think Sara would take his side, and that was how it should be. But because . . . she was his friend, too, and it felt good to get an opinion from someone other than Digg and Tommy. A woman’s opinion. 

“Now I feel like a bitch,” Sara said lightly. “For yelling at you. Although I stayed objective when Felicity and I were talking. Mostly.” 

“You--you did?” Oliver sank down on the bed, taking a deep breath. 

“Yep,” Sara said. “She’s struggling with this. But it’s because her head’s fighting her heart.” 

Oliver felt his mouth fall open. Her head and her heart? Did that mean . . . ? 

No. He couldn’t guess at what Felicity was feeling or thinking. He shouldn’t do that, because it would be too easy to fall into the trap of expecting one thing and feeling flustered or defensive when he didn’t get the expected reaction. Better to be surprised and honest in his reactions. Felicity had always been unpredictable. He needed to let go of his need to control everything if he wanted tonight to go well. 

Tonight. When he would sit across from Felicity and put his heart on the line. When he would tell her everything. 

“Ollie? You’re breathing pretty hard. Are you okay?”

“Yeah--yeah, I’m okay,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Just . . . just thinking things over.” 

She chuckled softly. “Hang in there, Ollie. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks for listening, Sara.” 

“What are you wearing?” 

Oliver blinked at the change of subject. “What?” 

“What are you wearing? I’m a girl, I know what looks good. Is it a suit?” Sara’s voice was teasing. 

“Um, yes . . .”

“Wear a blue shirt with it, it’ll make your eyes pop,” Sara said authoritatively. “Good luck tonight. I have to go.” 

Before he even had a chance to say goodbye, Sara had hung up. Lowering his phone, Oliver wondered if he would ever understand women. Since he was staking a lot on his belief that he did know Felicity, it was enough to make him start doubting. 

Swinging back and forth between restrained optimism and crushing self-doubt was a new experience for him. Something he didn’t know how to handle. But . . . it meant that this mattered. That Felicity mattered. So he was going to do everything he could to make this right. 

Starting with sending his gray suit and a blue button-down shirt to the dry cleaner’s. And then he would attempt to get through the rest of the morning, and his solo signing this afternoon, and get ready for dinner without losing his mind. 

XXX

Holding back a sigh of frustration, Felicity leaned in towards the bathroom mirror, trying to apply eyeliner with hands that were not very steady. Getting ready here, in the tiny bathroom in her mother’s trailer, the place where she had gotten ready for her very first date, was prompting a wave of nostalgia in her. Because the nerves she was feeling now weren’t that different from those she had back then. 

Although honestly, she was more nervous now. Which shouldn’t be the case, because it wasn’t like she hadn’t dated plenty. There had been boyfriends in her past, real relationships. She had experience--even if it had been a really long time. Yet none of that seemed to have prepared her for Oliver. For what had happened between them, for what tonight might hold. 

She had no idea what to expect and that shook her. And her hands. 

Wincing, she put down the liquid eyeliner and grabbed a cotton swab to clean up the messy line she had drawn on her eyelid. 

“You might want to use pencil.” 

The voice came from behind her, and in the mirror Felicity could just make out her mother’s fuzzy reflection. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Felicity said with a small sigh.

“Or I could do your eyeliner,” Donna offered, coming closer and becoming slightly clearer to her glasses-less eyes. 

“Would you?” Felicity said, turning and holding the liquid eyeliner out to her mother. “I feel like I need to look my best.” 

Donna nodded and took the eyeliner, gesturing for Felicity to close her eyes. She could feel the careful strokes as she applied the makeup. “In a situation like this, a woman needs some armor.” 

Felicity couldn’t help smiling a little. “Yeah.”

This morning, once her mother came home from work, they had curled up on the couch and Felicity had slowly revealed the full history of her whatever-it-was with Oliver, including his invitation to dinner that evening. Donna had listened carefully, not saying anything--just letting Felicity talk. But at the end, her mother had looked at her and said, “You should go.” 

And Felicity couldn’t help but agree. She had texted Oliver, carefully keeping her messages short and free from any hint of curiosity. Because if she started asking questions more important than the dress code and the time for dinner, she wouldn’t be able to stop asking questions.

There was silence for a moment as Donna applied the eyeliner. Then, very quietly, Donna said, “I’m proud of you.” 

She jerked back as her eyes popped open. “What?” Felicity scrambled for her glasses, sliding them on so she could see her mother.

“I’m proud of you, Felicity,” Donna said, her eyes locked on Felicity’s. “Because you’re facing Oliver and you’re going to talk things over--you’re demanding he give you the answers you need.” Donna slowly brushed her hands down Felicity’s arms, taking her hands. “My baby girl’s not a coward.” 

Swallowing, Felicity tried to find her voice. Because her mother’s belief that she wasn’t a coward . . . it felt so very far from the truth. She didn’t feel brave or strong; she was surprised she wasn’t trembling from the stress and anxiety. “I--” 

Donna smiled at Felicity and squeezed her hands. “You need to get going if you’re going to meet Oliver in time.” 

“Um, right,” Felicity said, picking up her phone and checking the time. “Yeah.” 

“You look beautiful,” Donna said, kissing Felicity’s cheek. “That dress is stunning.” 

“You don’t think it’s too much? Oliver said formal, and yeah he’s a billionaire and is used to dressing up, but he’s still a guy and he doesn’t always understand things like . . . dress codes,” Felicity said, her voice trailing off as she smoothed her hands down the sides of her dress. She had gone shopping that afternoon, thankful that Oliver had a solo signing while her day was clear, and had found it in a store she had always wanted to visit when she had lived in Vegas. 

The dress was a deep pink with spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice, leaving her shoulders bare. To help take down the sex appeal of it, Felicity had left her hair loose, the ends slightly curled and resting heavily over her shoulders.

“Not at all,” Donna said, smiling at Felicity. “Now scoot. Normally I would say you should keep him waiting a bit, but I don’t think you want to wait any longer to get this settled, right?” 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity nodded and scooped up her clutch and coordinating shawl. “Yes. I . . . I’m ready.” 

Pressing a light kiss to her cheek, Donna gave her a grin. “Go get ‘im, baby girl.” 

With a soft laugh, Felicity nodded and headed out to her rental car. 

The drive back to the Bellagio passed both too slowly and too quickly. She felt like she should be doing something more to prepare, but what could she do, really? She had no idea what was going to happen tonight, other than a probably too-fancy dinner. 

But at least she knew she looked good. 

When she arrived at the Bellagio--allowing herself a moment to smile a little at how Oliver had lobbied to stay at this hotel when they had been planning the tour, like the rich tourist he was--she handed the rental car over to the valet and stepped out. She used a window to check her hair, then squared her shoulders. 

She could do this. She could have dinner with Oliver and they would talk and . . . and stuff. 

_Oh my God, ‘and stuff’_? She had a master’s degree from MIT!

Shaking her head at her thoughts, Felicity stopped stalling and walked into the Bellagio, searching the lobby. She had barely started looking when she found Oliver. It was like her eyes found him automatically, the connection between them immediately crackling with extra life. 

And . . . God, he looked good. His suit was perfectly tailored to him and of course, of course he was wearing a blue dress shirt that matched his eyes. But as she drew closer to him, she could see some cracks in his image. He looked tired, his skin a bit paler than normal--not that Oliver had much of a sun-kissed look to begin with. His hair looked a bit messy, like he had been running his fingers through it. And there was a tension in his body, his shoulders rigid and his arms held tightly. His hands were even fisted as they hung by his sides. 

Then, his eyes, which had been flicking around the lobby, met hers. 

It was all she could do not to suck in a breath at the intensity in his eyes. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that--it had been barely twenty-four hours since he last saw her. But right now, it was like he hadn’t seen her in days and she was all he wanted to see. 

His shoulders relaxed a bit and his fists unclenched. He didn’t look away from her as he walked across the lobby, his attention never wavering from her. 

A shiver ran down her spine and she clutched her purse to her torso, trying to hold back on the urge to fidget or look away. She wanted to appear strong--no, she wanted to be strong. To act like the woman she needed to be, in order to figure out if she could trust Oliver with the most valuable thing she had.

Herself. 

Oliver drew close to her, keeping an appropriate amount of space between them. Not touching her, even though she was sure she saw his arm twitch like he had started to reach out to touch her arm, but almost immediately stopped himself. Instead, he searched her face for a moment. “Felicity,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

“I--I haven’t done anything that deserves thanks,” Felicity said, her voice coming out softer than she had intended. Less firm. 

“You agreed to have dinner with me,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Felicity thought he was trying to sound casual, but he doesn’t. He sounded like he is very, very serious. 

It’s like . . . it’s like he was thanking her for giving him this chance. For having dinner with him so they could talk.

Oh, God. She loved him. She still loved him--Felicity was pretty sure, in fact, that she would always love Oliver. But--but what will she do if they can’t fix this? If he won’t answer her questions, if what he has to tell her goes against what she thinks is right and true? 

What would she do then? 

End, Chapter 15


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, folks: the date you’ve all been waiting for. I hope this chapter is worthy of everything I’ve put you through so far, and that you’re left waiting just as anxiously for the final chapter of this fic. Because yes, there’s only one more chapter left. But let’s see what happens during dinner first . . .

For the rest of his life, Oliver hoped he remembered this moment. When he laid eyes on Felicity, seeing her shine so brightly, and knowing he wanted to have her light in his life forever. Wanted her to help him live, wanted to make her laugh. Wanted her. 

Even though so much was still uncertain and unsettled between them, he felt himself relax when he saw her. Because she was here, looking beautiful in a pink dress that mixed sex appeal with charming sweetness. She was nervous, he could tell, but as he approached her, she met his gaze and held her chin up, and he found himself falling more in love with her courage and her strength and the line of her shoulders. 

“Felicity,” he said, her name falling from his lips like it meant everything in the world to him. Because it did. “Thank you.” 

“I--I haven’t done anything that deserves thanks,” she said, the soft catch in her voice giving him a rush of hope. It made him want to touch her--so he slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“You agreed to have dinner with me,” he replied. Actually, there were so many things he was thanking her for, but . . . but he has to go slow. He has to keep himself under control and remember that tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Felicity. 

Oliver watched the emotions flicker across Felicity’s face and felt the tension ratchet up a bit higher. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, gesturing towards the exit. “There’s a car waiting for us.” 

She nodded quickly and drew her shawl around her shoulders, which made him feel both relieved and disappointed. Very carefully, he avoided touching her as they walked out of the hotel and got into the car. He doesn’t want to spook her or get distracted. 

The drive to Joël Robuchon’s restaurant at the MGM Grand was supposed to only take ten minutes, and at first he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he let them sit in silence? No--no, he couldn’t do that. Not without losing his mind. So he searched for something to say, and finally gave in to his curiosity about one element of Felicity’s past. 

“Have you gotten a chance to visit your mother while you’ve been here?” 

Her mouth made an O of surprise, and then she swallowed. “Oh . . . yes. I actually spent last night at her place. At her trailer.” 

There was something in her voice, in her words, that made him think she was testing him. Looking to see what his reaction would be. Given what’s happened between them, he wasn’t surprised. 

“I’m glad. Since you said you haven’t seen as much of her as you’d like in the last few years,” Oliver said quietly, glancing at her. Remembering their conversation on the plane when she told him about growing up in Vegas. 

Felicity relaxed infinitesimally, which made him want to grin like a schoolboy. But he held back as she nodded. “That’s right. She had to work, but--but it was really good to see her.”

“I hope I get a chance to meet her someday,” Oliver said. Because he was curious about Felicity’s mother, curious about her past. Curious about everything that made her into the woman she was today. 

And then he realized that there was a chance he wouldn’t meet Felicity’s mom. That she would walk out of his life after tonight and never want to see him again. And it made his heart clench in his chest, made his hands feel like shaking. He took a few breaths and looked out the window, feeling impatient with the delay in getting to the restaurant. 

He just wanted to begin talking to her, _really_ talking to her, so he would know where he stood with her. 

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and then they were at the MGM Grand and he was leading her towards the restaurant. When they stepped into the lavish environment, he could hear Felicity’s soft intake of breath. He glanced at her, seeing how her eyes were looking around, taking everything in. And the expression of gentle wonder on her face made him glad he had picked this place. Glad that he chose something special for tonight. 

“Oliver Queen. We have a reservation for the private room at eight,” he told the maitre d’, who nodded and efficiently escorted them into the small, formal dining room that was separate from the rest of the restaurant. 

As Oliver had directed, there were two floral arrangements of roses, in every color of the rainbow, providing bold splashes against the room’s purple walls and black and white trim. There was also a small bouquet on the table, resting on top of the copy of his book, but Felicity didn’t notice it. She paused and leaned in to take a small sniff of one of the arrangements, before she realized Oliver was waiting by her chair, ready to help her sit. 

“Oh!” she said, turning pink and hurrying over to the chair. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine,” he said, feeling a real smile on his face for the first time tonight. “You like the flowers?”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, glancing up at him as she sat down. Once again, he kept his hands away from her, even though they nearly brushed against her as he slid the chair underneath her. 

Perhaps because the eye contact between them is so potent, he doesn’t even mind not touching her. Because her eyes are just . . . he could get lost in them. 

Clearing his throat quietly, Oliver walked around to take his own seat. “I remembered you said you liked colorful flowers.” 

“I do,” Felicity said. She looked around, taking in the room, then, to his shock, she gave him a tiny smile. “So your preferred method of apologizing is ‘go big or go home’?”

Oliver blinked and then looked down, laughing quietly. “I’d say the approach is more proportional to how much I screwed up.” 

“Hmm,” she said, tilting her head to one side and looking at him. 

Nodding, Oliver leaned forward a little. “Everything about tonight--it’s about showing you that I am sorry. That I know I made mistakes. And I’m not just talking about all this,” he said, waving a hand around them. “It’s not just about the dinner and the flowers.” 

“What is it also about, then?” she asked, her voice soft and her eyes holding his. 

He can’t believe how her simple joke and his laughter has defused the tension. Let him breathe, let him think clearly for the first time in days, it felt like. Let him do this right. 

“It’s about what I want to tell you,” he said, not looking away from her. “It’s about everything I haven’t said until now.” 

Felicity’s expression was guarded, but there’s something in her eyes that sparked to life at his words. It gave him confidence, even as they both waited for the server to pour the wine and offer them their appetizers.

When she glanced down at the menu beside her plate, he said, “I told them about your peanut allergy. And that you don’t like shellfish.” 

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” Felicity said, her fingers adjusting her glasses in a way that made him think she wanted to fidget with them. 

He can’t help a small smile. Not wanting to say he’s pretty sure he remembered everything she has ever told him about herself. The food doesn’t hold much interest to him tonight, but he ate a little and sipped his wine, watching her in the candlelight. 

Felicity ate slowly and barely touched her wine as she watched him. After a few moments, she straightened her shoulders. “So. Where do we want to start?” 

The fact that she said ‘we’ and not ‘you,’ making this a conversation and not a simple confession, warmed his heart.

“I thought with Ex Astris and the tour,” he said cautiously, waiting to see how she reacted. Other than a slight narrowing of her eyes, she seemed receptive. So he started talking. 

XXX

It was important to stay focused. To listen to what Oliver is saying, to watch his face and his eyes and look for any signs that he was holding back. To stay in this moment and not let her mind get away from her. 

But God, it’s hard. With the way he’s looking at her, with how he was actually explaining things, with everything he has already done tonight to make her feel special . . . 

He booked a private room in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Las Vegas, filled it with flowers she liked, made sure she would enjoy her meal, and she would bet her apartment that the wine they’re both barely drinking costs more than a year at MIT. 

And Oliver did this all for _her_. 

Which honestly was head-turning enough. But when he admitted he knew the flowers and the fancy meal wouldn’t be enough, and that tonight was also about them actually _talking_?

That quiet voice inside her was getting louder and louder. Telling her that it was time. 

“When I found out that Tommy had arranged the tour, I should have come clean with you. I should have told you before about buying Ex Astris, too--and when you asked me about the _Tattler_ , that would have been the perfect time to tell you.” 

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, lifting her water goblet (because yes, with crystal this fine it was a goblet) and taking a small sip. 

He folded his hands on the table. “Because I knew it would hit on something you were sensitive about.” 

“Money,” Felicity said with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” he said, shifting a little in his seat. “Well, and also . . . going on this tour with you? It was the only way I was willing to do this at all. Leave Starling, meet so many new people. Because--because I wanted to spend time with you.” 

Felicity looked down, needing a moment to collect her thoughts. Because his eyes are enough to send every thought in her head scattering to the four winds. “That . . . that’s very sweet. But I just--Oliver, I felt like I was here on false pretenses.”

“You’re not, Felicity.” The firmness in his voice made her slowly lift her eyes to his. He’s looking at her fiercely. “The only reason I had for buying Ex Astris was to make sure you wouldn’t be left in the lurch. If your royalties dried up because the publisher went under, I was worried about what would happen to you. And then there was _This or That_ and how you’d have to find a new publisher if Ex Astris went out of business.” He paused. “I don’t have any interest in Ex Astris. Would it be better if I got Tommy to buy me out? Or just asked him to find a buyer for it?” 

This wasn’t fair. It was so hard to adjust to this new Oliver. He was just--how could he turn on a dime like this? Opening himself up, asking for her opinion, acting so differently from before? She didn’t understand. 

The servers clearing away the appetizer and setting down salad plates helped give her a moment to think. Then, when they were alone again, she looked at him. “It . . . it was an out-of-the-box way of trying to help, I admit. Honestly, it’s unlikely I’ll publish anything with Ex Astris after _This or That_ comes out, so . . . so I don’t really have an opinion on what you should do with the company. And what really matters is that I wish you would have just talked to me. Because I--I know you would have made it clear that you were worried about me. And that it wasn’t about judgement or pity.” She hesitated, then can’t help saying quietly, “Right?” 

He nodded emphatically. “Yes, right. I was worried. I wanted your life to be easier, wanted you to be able to write whatever you wanted without thinking about whether it would sell or not.” 

“I’m always thinking about that, though,” Felicity said with a small smile and a shrug. “Just how I am.” 

That seemed to surprise him, if his furrowed brow and pursed lips were anything to go by, so Felicity elaborated. “If I’m going to spend over a year working on something, if I’m going to pour my heart and soul into it--I want to do it with a clear mind. I want to be prepared for what might happen.” She shrugged again. “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.” 

Oliver leaned back in his chair, gazing at her. “Huh.” 

“Huh?” she repeated, quirking an eyebrow at him before she speared some arugula from her salad.

“I guess I didn’t realize you did that. You always seem so passionate about whatever you’re working on, I didn’t think you calculated the odds like that.” Oliver looked at his plate and then poked his fork into a tomato, eating it slowly. 

“Well, if I only cared about what would sell, I’d be writing things like _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , which, yuck,” Felicity said, before realizing that she didn’t exactly want to talk to Oliver about the unsexiness of the sex in that crappy book. She moved on quickly. “I want to enjoy what I work on, yeah, but I don’t want bad sales to make me forget why I liked the book in the first place, you know what I mean?” 

She watched as Oliver played with his salad a bit more, lost in thought. They had moved beyond their fight over Ex Astris, and hearing Oliver’s side of things, she could at least see where he was coming from. Because it was true: she wouldn’t want to talk to billionaire Oliver Queen about her money problems. And even though he didn’t flaunt his money, most of the time, she always knew that he never had to worry about the things she had worried about. 

But honestly . . . was that being fair to Oliver? Because even before this past month, they had been friends. He would have been willing to listen to her, willing to help her, even if he had never experienced the fear of being broke. If she had started the discussion by saying she wasn’t asking him for money, and she didn’t want him to offer her any, perhaps that would have let them talk things over. Maybe Oliver would have a different perspective than Sara, who suffered from a lack of money like she did.

It was so eye-opening a realization, yet also so obvious, that Felicity felt her cheeks flush. Yet again, she was left feeling like a hypocrite, for condemning Oliver’s behavior while practicing the same patterns as he did. They both seemed to hold things in, rather than share. Whether it was from her need to prevent getting hurt or his desire to keep things under control, they both had work to do on letting someone in. On learning how to not hold back. 

Although he hadn’t held back in telling her how he felt about her. 

For a moment, she was back in his hotel room, staring at him, his words hanging in the air between them. “ _I love you. Is that simple enough?_ ”

Felicity really, really wished it was. That him confessing how he felt was enough. Because hearing him say the words had shocked and overwhelmed her. She couldn’t believe it at first--couldn’t believe him. But now? With everything he was doing, from this fancy meal she was barely eating to how he was opening up and wanting her help to make choices that would affect him, too? 

_He loves you. Don’t you think it’s time to tell him you love him, too?_

Doing her best to ignore that voice in her head, Felicity looked at Oliver. He was mechanically eating his salad, his forehead furrowed in a way that made her want to brush her fingers over the wrinkles, to smooth them out and make him relax. To make him smile. 

“You--you certainly seem lost in thought,” she said quietly. 

He looked up from his plate, his expression growing less worried. “Oh . . . yeah. Just processing.” 

“I know what you mean,” she said, watching him. “There’s been a lot of that going on lately.” 

When he pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, Felicity took a deep breath. “Like . . . what you said. At the end of our fight.” She moistened her lips, not missing how Oliver’s eyes dropped to her mouth for a split-second. “When you said you love me.” 

XXX

To Oliver’s surprise, everything had been going so much better than he had anticipated. Felicity hadn’t seemed too overwhelmed by the restaurant. She had cracked a joke that eased the tension between them. She had listened to his explanations, made it clear that she wasn’t happy about it, but . . . but he was pretty sure she had forgiven him for what he had done. And through it all, she made it clear what she wanted. For him to talk to her, for him to be honest. 

It was hard. Really hard. But . . . but he wanted Felicity. He didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to keep learning about her, like tonight. He had no idea she was so practical when it came to what she wrote. But then, it made sense when he thought about it. Felicity was just so smart about so many things. And he was sure that even though she didn’t say it, money yet again played a role in her decision-making. Because if she spent a year writing a book that didn’t sell after it was published--or wouldn’t even get published in the first place--she’d have to face those consequences. Perhaps that was why it had taken her so long to be willing to try fiction. 

For a moment, he let himself imagine a day when Felicity can feel safe to write whatever she wants. When she can write novels or take as much time as she wants to perfect her work. She was so incredibly talented. What could she achieve if she didn’t have to worry about money? If she knew she had a safety net? If she had him? 

“You--you certainly seem lost in thought.” 

Felicity’s voice made him realize he had been sitting there silently, lost in his head as he ate half his salad. 

He looked up, trying not to feel flustered. He was supposed to be talking to her, not staying quiet like this. “Oh . . . yeah. Just processing.” 

_Processing?_ What did that even mean? 

Oliver waited for Felicity to call him on his non-answer, but instead, it seemed to strike a chord with her. Her eyes didn’t leave his face as she nodded a little. “I know what you mean. There’s been a lot of that going on lately.” 

There was something in her voice that made him feel wary. Like everything was about to blow up, just because he had been thinking that tonight had been going better than he had hoped. 

He nodded, watching as Felicity took a deep breath. He tried really hard not to look down and see her chest rise and fall with her movement. But then she spoke and her words shook him.

“Like . . . what you said. At the end of our fight. When you said you love me.” 

Felicity’s voice was quiet and hesitant, but her eyes don’t look away from his. All night, she hasn’t let him let him duck any of her questions--she wasn’t giving him any outs. 

But he doesn’t need one for this. 

“I do, Felicity,” he said, not afraid of owning up to this. Not afraid of saying it. “I love you.” 

At that, her eyelids fluttered and she looked down at her plate. He was ready to keep going, but in an example of really, really bad timing, the servers showed up to clear away their salads and present their entrees. 

He looked up at the servers and said quietly, “We’ll let you know when we’re ready for dessert.” Oliver doesn’t want to be disturbed again. Not with what he was about to tell Felicity.

Once they’re alone, Oliver looked back at Felicity, who was moving her food around on her plate. “Felicity?” 

Her eyes jerked up to his, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. She looked so vulnerable and uncertain that it made him want to change everything. Go back to the start and tell her the truth, like he should have done. 

But he can’t go back. He can only hope that explaining everything now will be enough. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Oliver tried to arrange his thoughts. “There’s something I want you to look at,” he said, moving aside the bouquet of flowers that had been hiding his book. 

She looked confused for a moment, and then she saw the book and her eyes went wide. “Oliver, your book,” she said, sounding unsure. 

“Yeah, my book. The final copies came yesterday, so . . . I didn’t let you read it, because--because I was worried about disappointing you--” 

“Oh, Oliver,” she said, her face going soft. “I wouldn’t be disappointed.” 

He tried to smile. “You haven’t read it yet,” he said, attempting a joke. “But now you can, and--and thank you for going along with this, Felicity. It was--I shouldn’t have asked that of you, just because I was too nervous about what you would think.” 

“I get it, I really do,” she said, her hands reaching for the book. But she doesn’t pick it up until he nodded, pasting on a smile. But when she looked down at the cover, he picked up his wine glass and took a healthy swallow. 

Her eyes are thoughtful as she looked at his book, her hand lightly passing over the jacket. Then she turned the book over and her mouth fell open when she took in his author photo on the back cover. “Wait, this looks--I know this photo.” 

“You took it,” he said. “That day when you were teaching me about Instagram.” 

The expression on her face was surprised, but there’s also something else . . . happiness? Attraction? Oliver wasn’t sure. But he was pleased to see the photo getting a reaction from her. It made it easier for him to say, “You should look at the dedication page.” 

“What?” she asked, even as she was turning the book over and opening it. The time it took for her to turn the pages and find the dedication felt like an eternity. But then she was reading and that felt like an _actual_ eternity. 

Oliver can’t look away from her, so he saw the moment her face crumpled. “Oliver,” she whispered, her voice cracking on his name. 

“It’s the truth, Felicity,” he said, leaning forward, wishing he could touch her. Wishing this table wasn’t in the way. “Your friendship--falling in love with you--it made me want to live. Meeting you and having you in my life, you helped me finally get off the island.” 

“Stop,” she said, her voice low and trembling. Her eyes were closed and her shoulders were shaking, and Oliver was up and moving his chair, so he could sit next to her, before he was even conscious of his action. 

“I--I don’t understand,” she said, her words coming out in a staccato rhythm. “Why--why are you telling me all this? Why now?” 

She was fighting tears. And Oliver hated that she was on the verge of crying because of him. But he _needed_ her to hear this.

Giving in to his constant desire, Oliver lightly rested his hand over hers where it was laying on top of the table. She immediately turned her hand and gripped his tightly, making his whole body soften. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until right now, as his muscles loosened and relaxed at the touch of her hand. 

“I’m telling you now because I love you,” he said softly. “Because--because I want a future with you. But it’s not fair to ask you for that without you knowing what you’re getting into with me.” He paused, letting that sink in. When she doesn’t react, he thought that maybe he wasn’t explaining himself right. 

“It’s like I’m a book idea,” he said, feeling foolish at making a metaphor out of their earlier conversation. “You’ve only seen the surface of the idea so far, but to know if this idea is gonna work, if it’s going to be something that will last, something you really want to explore, you have to know everything you can about the idea.” 

Slowly, Felicity lifted her face to his. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are watery behind her glasses. She was chewing so much on her lower lip that for the first time, her lips are missing lipstick. 

“That probably doesn’t make any sense--” Oliver said, trying to regroup, but Felicity shook her head. 

“No . . . no, I think I see what you’re saying,” she said hesitantly. “You--you’re doing all this so I would know if I could believe you.” 

Nodding quickly, Oliver squeezed her hand. “Yes. Although there’s more I have to tell you.” 

Felicity was such an animated woman, in her face and her body language, that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this still. She’s gone so motionless that he wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. 

“More?” she said, sounding absolutely shocked. 

For a split-second, Oliver wondered if she didn’t want to know. If telling her about the island, telling her about the Arrow, was the right idea. But he pushed aside those fears and made himself nod. 

“Seven years ago, I . . . I left with my father on the Queen’s Gambit right before Christmas,” he said, watching her face as he started his story. “I didn’t want to go. I had made plans with Tommy to go to Thailand for New Year’s, but my parents--they didn’t like the influence I had over Thea. The kind of role model I was being. They made me go with my dad or risk never seeing my sister again.” 

He could tell she wanted to ask questions. She opened her mouth, but then quickly pressed her lips together and gave him a little nod, silently telling him to continue. 

And even though this was already so hard, Oliver did what she told him to do. He kept going.

XXX

This wasn’t what she was expecting.

Of course, she hadn’t known what to expect from tonight. But it wasn’t this. 

She thought that they’d deal with the Ex Astris business, spend some time talking it over. And they had, but now . . . all of that didn’t seem so important anymore. Not with his confession still unaddressed. By the time he had asked her if she preferred that he wasn’t involved with their publisher anymore, she had realized his apology was sincere. And he was trying to open up. 

That was enough for her. Enough for her to bring up what he had told her, enough for her to rip off the band-aid and ask him if he actually did love her. 

Up until now, she would have said that Oliver was reserved. He hadn’t ever really been the type to be emotional in a demonstrable way. When he spoke about things that were important to him--his sister, his few friends, his writing--he was definitely passionate, but there was never the kind of goofy, giddy excitement that Felicity often felt when she got worked up about something. 

It didn’t really matter. She knew Oliver wasn’t like her--he didn’t get goofy, but it didn’t mean he was some kind of robot. He felt things _so_ deeply. But when Oliver said he loved her, she heard a hint of something different in his voice. Something that sounded a little bit like joy. But it had been restrained. 

Now she knew why. Because he wanted to tell her about his life on the island. About the horrible five years he had spent, getting tortured and hurt, starving and suffering, because he thought she should know about that before she decided if she wanted to be in a relationship with him. 

If she thought she loved him before, now she was convinced. 

Felicity Smoak loved Oliver Queen. Completely, totally, without question. Because the stories he told her, they made her see _him_. See every bit of his soul and his mind and his heart, and she wanted to take away every bit of sadness and pain and fear, no matter how much it hurt her to do so. 

And through it all, he kept holding her hand. Sometimes his fingers would squeeze hers so tightly, like he was holding on to her with everything he had. Other times, he would rub his thumb over her knuckles, his touch gentle and soft. 

The longer he spoke, the more questions she had. She held back, though, not wanting to interrupt him. Not wanting him to be stuck in his dark, painful past for any longer than necessary. 

Yet the more he told her, the more it seemed like he was able to relax just a bit. Felicity remembered how she had hoped that someday, he would be willing to talk about the island and what had happened to him, if only because he shouldn’t carry all of it around with him. Deep down, she had hoped he might trust her enough to tell her some of it. But she never thought he would tell her as much as he had tonight. 

She hadn’t been able to hold back the tears. They had trickled down her cheeks slowly, absolutely ruining her makeup. When the first tears slipped from her eyes, he had offered her a snowy white handkerchief, with one of his tiny little smiles. She had given him a weak smile in return as she took it and used it to dab at her face. And then he had just resumed the story he had been telling about being sent to Russia.

What he had seen and experienced . . . it was like something out of a comic book or a movie. It boggled her mind that he had survived it all. Survived and not come back stark raving mad. That he still had such goodness in him--loyalty and kindness and love--it was amazing. 

Oliver paused, his eyes on their hands. “It was my choice. To come back.” 

Not trusting her voice, she shifted her hand in his grasp so that her fingers laced through his, palm against palm. His eyes flicked up to hers, then he let his fingers bend, his fingertips rubbing against the back of her hand. It was so incredibly soothing that Felicity shut her eyes for a moment, feeling like she should be the one providing him comfort right now. 

“I decided it was time to come home,” he said, his voice soft. “After Hong Kong and Russia, being back on Lian Yu . . . I thought I was ready. But I wasn’t. Last summer proved that. After the--after Tommy got hurt, I ran. I went back to the island. To hide. And I realized that I hadn’t really left it.” 

Finally, finally, she felt like she was ready to talk. “It was five years, Oliver. It’s not something you could just get over, in less than a year.”

He nodded a little, his head lowered. Over the course of their conversation, they had moved back a bit from the table, and their joined hands were resting on his knee. She thought he was looking at their hands again. 

Gazing at him, at the way his head was bent as he looked down, Felicity reached out and lightly stroked his hair. “Now it’s my turn to thank you.” 

Her hand slid as he lifted his head, coming to rest on the back of his neck. He stared at her, his eyes wide and blue. “What?” 

“Thank you, Oliver,” she said softly. “For sharing that with me--for trusting me.” 

His eyes blinked, his unfairly long lashes fluttering a little, and Felicity knew they were too close. But she didn’t care right now. Because she wanted to kiss him. Kiss him and wrap her arms around him, hold him close to her and protect him. She was tiny compared to him, but the need to keep him safe was so strong, it overruled any other thought in her head. 

A hug would be safer than a kiss, right? 

Felicity carefully drew her hand from Oliver’s. Then she lifted her arm, letting both hands clasp behind his neck, as she shifted on her chair to get closer to him. She tightened her arms around him, easing him in towards her. Oliver was stiff, holding himself back, until she got close enough to lay her head on his massive shoulder.

And then he was crushing her to him. He lifted her up into his lap, her legs slung across his thighs, as he hugged her to him, his body so firm and warm against hers. Her face ended up against his neck, filling every breath she inhaled with his maddening, comforting scent. 

As tightly as he hugged her, she held on to him just as fiercely. Because she sensed that deep down, Oliver had craved this ever since he had left that damn island, and there had been no one to do this for him. No one willing to hold him this tight, for as long as he needed. She knew his sister and mother loved him, that Tommy was his best friend, that Diggle protected him . . . but this seemed to be something only she could do for him. 

“Shhhh,” she said softly against his neck, her lips brushing against his skin in an almost-kiss. “I’m here.” 

Nothing felt more right than holding Oliver right now. Nothing felt more necessary. But then, he was pushing her away. 

She blinked as her overheated skin, so warmed from their contact, met cool air. Because he had stopped hugging her. He had used his hands to push her arms away from his neck and was breathing hard, his eyes wide as they darted around the room. 

“Oliver?” she asked, trying to reach out to cup his face in her hands and bring his eyes to hers. It looked like he was having some kind of panic attack. “Breathe, Oliver.” 

He nodded, then shook his head, not letting her touch him. “No--yes--I have to stay calm.” 

Shifting on his lap, she reached for his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay that you’re feeling upset after talking about the island. I understand.” 

For a long moment, he didn’t look at her, his eyes looking off into the distance. He looked like he was struggling with something, something Felicity didn’t understand. But then, he met her gaze and she nearly gasped. Because his eyes--they looked so sad.

“There’s something else.” 

“What?” She frowned as she looked at him. “Oliver, what do you mean, there’s--” 

“Felicity,” he said, his voice choked. “I’m the Arrow.”

XXX

Ever since he had returned from Lian Yu, Oliver had refused to talk about the island to anyone, at least not in any depth. Not to his family, not to his friends. Because how could he talk about how he had kept hunger at bay without explaining all the animals he had killed with his bare hands? How could he have people look at his scars without asking him how he got them--and telling them how he had prevented further wounds? How could he talk about how he survived without anyone thinking he was broken and damaged and hopeless? 

He couldn’t. So he had held it all in, refusing any overtures to talk, because the last thing he wanted was to lose the people he had come back for. 

Felicity was . . . she had known him before, yes. But barely. Her perception of him was based much more on who he was now. That didn’t make it any easier to tell her, of course. 

But if he wanted to explain being the Arrow, she had to know about the island. 

“Before my father died, he told me I had to right his wrongs. I had to survive to do that,” Oliver said, speaking quickly. Watching Felicity’s face, which was tear-stained and confused and so, so beautiful. “And then I found the List. It was in a book of my father’s and it had the names of Starling City’s elites, the people who were responsible for all the evil in the city. My parents were part of it. Tommy’s dad. People I had known my whole life--they stole from hardworking, honest people. They let people die in their slums, they funded drug dealers, they--they’re why the Glades is what it is.” 

He didn’t know what Felicity was thinking. But he had to keep going. Had to keep talking until he was done, so she would know who he was. 

Who he really was. 

“When I came back, I didn’t have any mercy left in me,” Oliver said, the words bitter in his mouth. “I didn’t think anyone deserved a second chance. They only deserved death.” 

Felicity blinked and shakily lifted herself off his lap, the absence of her leaving him very cold. “Oh my God.” 

“I’m not like that anymore,” he said, looking up at her. Not moving. Trying to make her feel safe. “I’m not. I haven’t killed since the earthquake. I’m done with it. And with the List. I’m trying to do more. Find a different way. Be better.” 

“What--what made you even start doing this in the first place?!?” Felicity said, lifting her hands to run through her hair. “After everything you’ve gone through, why would you do this to yourself?”

It was a question Oliver had never expected anyone to ask. Why? Why did he choose this? Why did it feel like he didn’t have a choice? Because it never had. 

“I . . . I spent five years learning what I was capable of. Becoming someone else. Someone who could make people pay for their crimes. When I came back, it was to make Starling a better place. Make the city into what it could be,” Oliver said, swallowing hard at the way her face changed as he spoke.

“And you thought the best way of doing that was with a bow and arrow?” Felicity said, her voice raised. “Oliver, that doesn’t make any sense! There’s a hundred different ways you could have helped Starling City. You’re rich and charismatic and powerful!”

“None of that is who I am!”

Oliver rose to his feet, his fists clenched by his sides. “That was the old Oliver Queen. The guy people called Ollie, the one who was an asshole and a douchebag. I’m not that man anymore. I don’t want to be him--but I don’t want to be a killer, either. So I stopped. But all I know how to do is fight people and threaten criminals.” 

“Wrong!” Felicity whirled and snatched up his book from where it was lying on the table. “This--this proves you can do more. That you don’t have to be some man in a hood to make a difference!” 

“One person can’t make a difference--you said that, remember?” he said, taking a step towards her. “I don’t agree with that. I think one person can. Whether it’s taking out the powerful scumbags in Starling or inspiring people to fight for what’s important, one person can change things. The way I’m choosing to do it is as the Arrow.” 

He was losing her. He could see it happening, could feel it happening. She couldn’t accept that he was the Arrow--she didn’t want him to be the Arrow. And why should she? The Arrow was a vigilante, a criminal like those he hunted. Only an extremely damaged man would be willing to put on a costume and fight crime, willing to take those risks and not care about the consequences.

A man like him. 

It was too late. He should just stop trying, give up the fight. But as Oliver looked at Felicity, at the way her eyes were bright and her hair was mussed and her face was red, he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. 

“Maybe someday, I’ll be done,” he said, hearing his voice shake a little. “But not until the Glades are restored, not until the powerful get the message. That they can’t use their power like a weapon. The police won’t go after them, the press leave them alone. Only the Arrow can stop them.” 

“If the system is broken, you fix the system! You don’t just go outside the law--Oliver, what happens if you get hurt? What happens if they find out you’re the Arrow?” Felicity wrapped her arms around herself, staring at him. “What do you think that will do to your mother, and Thea? Or Tommy? To everyone that cares about you?” 

There’s something in her voice, something that made him pause. “What about you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through, but he was suddenly desperate to know the answer to his question. 

Felicity frowned. “What do you mean, what about me?” 

He took a step towards her. “Are you part of ‘everyone that cares about me’?” 

This was the last thing he should be doing. He shouldn’t be challenging her, asking her about how she felt. It was obvious, after all, that whatever she felt for him, there was no way she would be with him. Not when he was the Arrow. 

And Oliver knew, in his heart, that he couldn’t give up being the Arrow. He was _right_ , damn it. As long as Starling City had a rotten core, he couldn’t look at its shiny exterior without seeing the damage at its center. Damage that he could fix--the only wounds he could heal. 

Someday, the city would be able to get most of the crime under control, make that system Felicity said actually be a reality. No matter how good the system was, though, there would always be people outside of it. People who thought the rules didn’t apply to them. But he could make them follow the straight and narrow. God knew he hadn’t come very far in fixing himself. But his city? His home? He could and would make it into what it should be. 

“That’s not what we’re talking about, Oliver,” Felicity snapped, her chin lifted. 

“No, I think it is, Felicity.” He has his hands loosely wrapped around her upper arms, keeping her in place. She could break free easily if she wanted to. “Do you care about me? No, that’s not the right question,” he said, interrupting himself. Staring into her eyes, he refused to look away. Refused to keep this question inside. “Do you love me?” 

“What does it matter if I do?” she said, her arms tense under his hands. “It won’t change anything. It won’t change who you are.”

It was tempting to say that if she would just tell him, he would change. That he would stop, that he would do whatever she wanted, if she loved him back. Because he wanted her. Needed her. She had become such a huge part of his life, he didn’t know what he would do if she walked away from him now. 

But he knew he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t make a promise like that. Because as much as he craved her, it wasn’t enough for him to just love her. He wanted her to love him back. And how could she love someone who would compromise everything about themselves? Not Felicity--she was too strong, too good, to love a man like that. 

He might be damaged and flawed, and he definitely wasn’t good enough for her, but Oliver knew he was strong enough to only want something real. 

“It would change what I do,” he said, looking into her eyes. “It’d make me take less risks, if you were waiting for me to come home every night. You want me to change the system? I’d find a way. But you’re right. I can’t change who I am.” 

Felicity closed her eyes, sniffing quietly. A tense silence stretched between them, and Oliver knew there was nothing more he could say. It was up to Felicity now.

Up to her to decide.

XXX

Her lips were chapped. 

She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. She was such a fan of lip balms and glosses and bright, colorful lipsticks that her lips were always super-moisturized. 

But tonight . . . no amount of lipstick could hold up to what her lips had gone through. She felt like she had been biting her lower lip for hours. There was actually a knot of tension in her jaw from it. 

Or maybe it was from all the words she was trying to hold back from saying. 

_You’re crazy, Oliver. You’re going to get killed. You’re a criminal--you’ve killed people! How can you do good by doing evil? If you get caught, you’ll be locked up and they will throw away the key. Why are you reliving your five years of torture every single night? What’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this? How can you love me? Do you even know what love is anymore? I don’t want this. Don’t you want to be happy? I want to make you happy. I love you._

She loved him. Still. Always. Nothing he had said tonight had changed that. Not even the fact that he was the Arrow. 

(She couldn’t believe she had been _right_. She had considered it for a split-second, when she found out about Sara, since what were the chances that Oliver Queen and Sara Lance were friends _and_ the Arrow and the Canary worked together? It really sucked to realize that sometimes coincidences _weren’t_ coincidences, that they meant something.)

But was loving him enough? Enough to accept how he spent his nights, enough to allow him to work outside the law, enough to take the risk of being with him when that was suddenly a much bigger risk? 

Felicity didn’t know. 

At this moment, she felt like an overclocked computer that was going so fast it was about to melt down. Just finding out about what Oliver had experienced, the five years he was away, would have been enough to send her into tilt. But having him confess he was the Arrow, too? 

It was like watching a tragedy and switching to a horror movie without time to recover. Because the things he had told her, about the island, his time in Hong Kong and Russia . . . all of her speculation and worries about what he had gone through--none of them came close to the horrors he had experienced. The physical pain, the emotional torture: how was he not in a mental hospital, in a straight jacket and high on every drug known to man? Why hadn’t someone made him see a psychiatrist or a therapist? 

She supposed that his family and his friends were so grateful to have him back, they didn’t want to hurt him by making the suggestion. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t made any new friends since he had returned. 

Other than her. 

God, she wasn’t strong enough for this. Felicity didn’t know what to do. 

He wasn’t talking, but even without looking at him, she knew he was looking at her. His hands had let go of her arms at some point, but he was still standing in front of her. She could feel his eyes on her. Waiting. How could he be so patient with her? Patient and open like this? Telling her all of this, knowing that it was much more likely that she would reject him, that she could even go to the police and reveal his secret? 

Should she do that? Was that the only way to save Oliver? Save him from this insanity? 

But . . . he didn’t sound insane. He sounded very, very rational. Like he knew what he was doing and he must be kinda good at it, since he had been doing this whole vigilante thing since he came back and he hadn’t gotten caught. 

Oliver had admitted he wouldn’t change who he was. And . . . she understood that. He had found a way to cope, a method that worked for him. Not just the putting on a costume and using an ancient weapon to stop crime, but things like his finger twitch and the tiny lip-quirk smiles and the obsessive need for control. And she knew what it was like, to deal with a trauma and have to come up with ways of dealing with what had happened. She touched her scar, she repeated her mantra. 

They were the same, Felicity thought as she realized she was touching the scar on her neck. But not, because . . . she had never considered really trying to help women like herself. Women who had been attacked. Oh, sure, she had spoken out for cyberbullying laws on her Facebook page, had spent a lot of time talking to other women in the tech field. But had she really done anything? 

The answer was no. And it made her feel ashamed. 

How could she fault Oliver for wanting to do more? To make Starling City a better place? She couldn’t. And yeah, his methods were unorthodox, to put it mildly, but they seemed to be working. She wasn’t sure she could get up on a high horse about them, especially if he wasn’t killing anyone anymore. Which was hard for her to believe, Oliver _killing_ anyone, but . . . but no one would lie about that. 

So that just left the question of where it left them. If there was even a ‘them’ anymore. And she wouldn’t know what her answer would be until she stopped hiding and looked at him. 

It took her a moment to gather her courage and open her eyes. When she did, it was to find that Oliver was, as she guessed, still standing in front of her. The intensity of his gaze made her think he hadn’t even blinked since she had closed her eyes. But she could see the turmoil he felt. The fear and anxiety and the growing despair.

But most of all, she could see love. The desperate, hopeful, life-changing love that he had for her. 

“O-Oliver,” she croaked. With a grimace, she swallowed and tried again. “Oliver . . .” 

“Felicity,” he said, his voice soft. “I told you all this because--because I couldn’t bear the thought of you finding out later, after we were together, and losing you because of it.” He paused, his tongue flashing out to lick his lips. “There’s three other people that know I’m the Arrow, but no one-- _no one_ \--knows as much about what happened to me while I was gone as you do. Because it explains why I’m the Arrow, but also because you deserve to know, so if--if you wanted, with me--” 

He stopped, pressing his lips together. 

Watching him like this, she felt her heart clutch in her chest. He suffered so much, yet he kept going. She didn’t understand how he could do that. But it scared her. Everything about him scared her right now and she didn’t know what to do. Talk to someone? Throw herself into his arms? Bury her face in mint chip ice cream?

“Tonight . . . tonight has been a lot,” she said weakly, falling back on clichés. 

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I . . . I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, gazing up at him. “It’s a lot to process,” she said, using the same word he had earlier. 

For just a moment, his face lightened, the strain easing. But then it was back. “Of course,” he said, stepping back. Probably falling back on all those etiquette classes he must have taken when he was younger, as a future billionaire. But she could see that he was nervous. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone. If that’s what you’re worried about,” she blurted out. 

“What?” he said, blinking. Then he shook his head. “No, Felicity--I trust you.” 

His words were like a physical punch in her gut. He trusted her? Oh, God, she wasn’t cut out for this. For all this heartbreak and heroics and secret identities--this was turning into something from a superhero movie and she wasn’t a damsel in distress or some kick-ass warrior woman. She was just . . . Felicity. 

Tonight was supposed to be about getting answers. Finding out if she could trust him, if she could believe in him. And instead, she had more questions than ever before--and she knew how much he trusted her. 

He trusted her with _everything_.

“I--I need to think,” she said, turning and blindly grabbing for her things. When she turned back to Oliver, he wasn’t able to wipe the sadness from his face in time, and she felt her heart drop, and suddenly she stepped forward and leaned up to kiss him quickly.

It wasn’t until their lips connected that she realized just what she was doing. And . . . God, she really wanted to kiss him sometime that wasn’t about being angry or scared or worried. Because with how good it is under these conditions, how good could it be when they’re happy and full of lust? 

It would be really good, she thought as she lingered for just a moment, marveling at how soft and gentle Oliver’s lips were against hers. 

Felicity pulled herself away. “I’m going back to Starling City,” she said, her thoughts a wild jumble. “I’m sorry, I just--I need to work this out, and--and I’m sorry. I’ll text you.” 

“Only if you want to . . .” he said slowly. “If--if you decide you don’t want . . . me, then--then just don’t.” 

“What?” She actually took a step back as his words sink in. 

Oliver slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “You don’t owe me anything, Felicity. So if it’s easier, to make a clean break--I just want to give you the space you need, you understand?” 

She doesn’t really understand, no, but she nodded slowly. She wanted to leave, wanted to get some distance so she can think. 

Thinking. That was what she needed to do.

End, Chapter 16


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s really sad to be at this point: to be bringing this story to a close. It took three stories and over 150,000 words, but I feel like I’m leaving Oliver and Felicity in a good place. Will I come back to this universe? I have to admit, the challenge of attempting the Slade storyline with this Oliver and Felicity is very, very tempting. We’ll have to see how the voices in my head feel about that idea. 
> 
> Until then, though, I want to say how incredibly grateful and appreciative I am of all the feedback and praise and flails I’ve gotten for this fic. It’s been a real labor of love for me--the first story in this series was the first Arrow fic I wrote, so automatically this series has a special place in my heart. It’s thrilled me to no end to know it has a place in your hearts, too. Thank you so very much, and I hope you enjoy this last chapter. 
> 
> A special thanks to mersayseh, who is a treasure by looking over this last chapter and helping me with my verb tense problems. Thanks, Mer!

Starling City Times, April 11, 2014  
 **Another Month of Lower Crime Rates: Who Do We Thank?**

When pressed for comment, Captain Lance ascribed the lower crime rates to the increasing number of recruits to the police academy. “More recruits means more graduates,” he said. But the head officer of the Starling City Police Department also indicated that the presence of individuals like the Arrow and the Canary had suppressed crime. “They’ve got the small-time crooks scared. Lot less purse-snatchings and smashed store windows in the Glades now.”

Publishers Lunch, April 11, 2014  
 **Buzz Building for Felicity Smoak**

With two books out this year, including her first work of fiction, all eyes are on Felicity Smoak. Early word is that Hachette is planning a major marketing campaign for her novel Scientific Magic--they even pushed it back from the summer doldrums to publish in early fall.

Starling City Examiner, April 14, 2014  
 **If the Election Were Today: Can Anyone Stop Sebastian Blood?**

Starling Magazine, April 2014  
 **The Queens: Tragedy and Redemption**

XXX

After he watched Felicity walk away, Oliver Queen didn’t have the comfort of falling into a daze. He didn’t let his mind go blank or move without any conscious thought of where he was going or what he was doing. 

No, he was very, very aware of himself. Of the weight on his shoulders, of the brick wall in his gut, of each painful beat of his heart. Of the phantom pressure of Felicity’s lips against his. 

Of letting the woman he loves walk away. Giving her the time she needed. He told himself it was the right thing to do, the necessary thing to do. But it hurt. A lot. 

It felt like rejection. Like his world was falling to pieces and not being sure how he could put the pieces back together. 

But he had to find a way. So Oliver focused on the tasks ahead of him: paying for dinner. Going back to the hotel. Arranging for a flight back to Starling. Checking out of the hotel. Getting to the airport. Going home. 

Waiting until Felicity decided. 

Somehow, he got through it all. Somehow, he arrived back in Starling, wondering what was next. 

There was plenty to do, at least. Starting with returning to the Foundry.

When he walked down the stairs to see Tommy poking at the computers while Sara and Digg sparred, Oliver felt his shoulders unknot a little. He had left Starling in good hands. And now that he was back, they would be here to help him carry on. 

“Hey,” he said, standing behind Tommy. 

His best friend whirled around, a big grin on his face. “Hey, Ollie, how’s--” 

But as soon as Tommy looked at him, the grin faded and he got this look on his face. This sad, sympathetic look. And Oliver realized his best friend knew exactly how badly things had gone with Felicity, just by looking at him. 

Oliver nodded, smiling tightly. “Yeah.” 

Tommy pushed himself up, grabbing his crutch and walking over to him. “I’m sorry, man.” 

“No, it’s--it’s okay,” he said, trying to sound like he was okay. Tommy wasn’t buying it, he could tell, but thank God, he just nodded.

“Good to have you back, Oliver,” Digg said, walking over and holding his hand out. 

“It’s good to be back,” Oliver said, shaking Digg’s hand and trying to shift into work mode. “How are things here?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sara hanging back, which wasn’t surprised. She must feel caught in the middle a bit. He’ll have to talk to her. Tell her that no matter what, she’s important to what the Arrow does and he would like to have her here. 

And he’ll also have to say that he won’t ask her about Felicity, so she doesn’t have to worry about that. Even though everything inside him was screaming to ask Sara for her help. 

“Not bad. Getting pretty close on Brother Blood. Once you’re up to speed, we can make a move against him. How’s your knee?” 

“Good, I think,” Oliver said, his eyes already going to the salmon ladder. “I haven’t been able to work out like I do here, so I probably need to test myself first. Regain the strength I’ve lost. And I’d like to just patrol tonight. Get a feel for things.” 

Digg folded his arms over his chest. “All right,” he said slowly. 

“I’m fine, Digg.” When Digg’s eyebrows raised, Oliver amended his statement. “I will be. But for now . . . I’m just glad to be back.” 

Without waiting for Digg to respond, Oliver pulled his shirt over his head and walked over to the training area, rolling his shoulders. He could feel everyone watching him, could feel the weight of their questions. It was like when he had first returned and everyone wanted to know what it was like on a deserted island, if it was like it was on TV or in movies. 

But this wasn’t idle curiosity. These people were important to him, and they were worried about him. And while he appreciated it . . . right now he had talked about Felicity about as much as he could handle. 

After taking the bar, he stood underneath the salmon ladder, breathing in and out slowly. Then he set the bar in the lowest rung and began moving. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a zone as he concentrated on what he was doing. It had been a month since he’d been able to do this, to work out and focus on it, and it let his mind begin to clear. 

Distantly, he heard Tommy leave to prepare the club for the night’s business, while Digg and Sara spoke quietly. By the time he was ready to come down, only Sara was left. 

“Where’s Digg?” he asked, letting his breathing come back to normal. 

“He needed ammunition. He’s picking up dinner on the way back, too,” Sara said, leaning against one of the tables. “Are we okay?” 

Oliver paused and faced Sara. “Because of Felicity.” 

She nodded, her blonde hair brushing her shoulders. So different from Felicity’s hair: while Felicity’s hair was shimmering sunshine with all different shades and colors, Sara was solid and even. Not flashy or noticeable, but still distinctive. 

“Sara, it’s good to have you here,” he said, mirroring her position by leaning back against the table opposite her. “I don’t want to lose that. To lose you.” He paused, wondering if this conversation wasn’t about what he wanted, but what she wanted. “Unless you want to leave.” 

“No,” Sara said quickly. “I just . . .” She let her voice trail off, then blew out a breath. “I know I was your friend first, but in this? I--I’m on Felicity’s side.” 

He looked down at his boots and nodded. “That’s good. She’s lucky to have someone like you in her life.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” Sara said quietly. He could hear her walk towards him, closing the distance between them. “Ollie? Are you okay?” 

No. No, he wasn’t. He was so far from okay. Because he had no idea what Felicity was thinking or feeling right now, he had no idea what he should be doing. He didn’t know whether to keep hoping that he would get to kiss Felicity again or if he should give in to the despair that gnawed at his belly.

“I just--” His voice cracked a little and he pressed his lips together. “Have you talked to her?” 

The touch of Sara’s hand on his arm made Oliver look up. She gave him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah. She made it back here okay.” 

“That’s good,” he said, feeling relieved that at least she was back in Starling, that she had talked to Sara. That she was okay.

“Hey, Ollie? I’m proud of you.” 

Oliver blinked. “What?” 

Sara gave him a crooked smile. “I’m proud of you. For telling Felicity. For taking the risk.” She rubbed his arm in a friendly, supportive way. “You wouldn’t have been able to do this when you first came back. You’ve come a long way. Not just from the guy you were when you were rescued, but from the guy you used to be.” 

For a long moment, he stared at her. Then, he couldn’t help grinning. “You think so?” 

Laughing, Sara punched him in the shoulder, not holding back. “You’re still a bit of a jerk, though. But then, you’re a guy, so . . .” 

With a quiet huff, he went to pick up his shirt. “I have to head home. Big family dinner.” 

“Have fun,” Sara said, quirking an eyebrow. “Although if your family dinners are like my family dinners . . .”

“Mom insisted. Welcoming me home and all that,” Oliver said, pulling his shirt on. “I’ll be back after dinner, though, for patrol. Up for it?” 

She nodded and patted his shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.” 

“I’m glad to be back,” he said, actually meaning it. The tour had been a life-altering experience, a chance to exist in the moment and savor every second he spent with Felicity. Returning to Starling brought back all his responsibilities. 

But this was home. This was what he was fighting to save. This was the place he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to protect. 

He had fallen in love with Felicity right here in Starling City. He had to keep hoping that being back would let her regain her balance, figure out how she felt about him. And maybe . . . maybe they would be able to start their lives together here. 

XXX

Even though she had been home for a day, Felicity was still feeling odd. Unsettled.

Her apartment, after a month of being unoccupied, felt unfamiliar. The air was stale, even with Felicity opening the windows as soon as she walked in. There was dust everywhere, making her sneeze. Her fridge was empty and there was mold growing in her bathtub. 

But if she was honest with herself, being back in her apartment wasn’t why she felt so shaken up. 

Because she was in Starling City. Her home. Oliver’s home. And knowing what she knew about him now, she couldn’t help thinking of Starling as Oliver’s city. 

Even on the ride from the airport to her place, everything she saw reminded her of him. Especially since instead of cleaning the mold or dusting her apartment, instead of putting food in her fridge and digging through the pile of mail, when she returned home she had gone straight to her computer and started reading about the Arrow.

Felicity had combed through the newspaper archives, going over every article about the vigilante in green. Without care for what might happen to her, she had hacked her way through the frankly pathetic security surrounding the SCPD’s archived files and downloaded the information they had about the anti-vigilante task force and the department’s dealings with the Hood. Using the video program she had created when she was trying to discover Sara’s secret, she had started gathering all the visual footage of the Arrow in action. 

There was so much, she had stayed up until five in the morning and then fallen asleep at her laptop. When she had woken up in the early afternoon, still tired and physically aching, she had been ready to dive right back into her research. But then she had seen the text message from Sara, inviting her to dinner with her and her father. 

Without a good reason to turn Sara down, Felicity had sent a message agreeing to meet the Lances, then had gotten up and slowly headed to the bathroom. Her brain was so sluggish that it took until halfway through her shower for Felicity to realize what an opportunity this was. 

Over their meal, she could find a way to bring the conversation around to the Arrow and ask Captain Lance about his change of heart. Because she had been very surprised by the recent article which revealed Captain Lance had all but admitted that the Arrow had helped Starling City. So maybe--maybe there was less danger to the Arrow now, maybe that meant Oliver would be safe, maybe--

This was crazy. Why was she thinking like this? Whether or not the Arrow might get unofficial--or even official--sanction from the Starling City Police Department, it didn’t change the fact that Oliver was the Arrow. That the man who said he loved her put on green leather every night and risked his life, a life that was already existing on borrowed time. Because how many people would have been able to survive what Oliver had, in those five years? And here he was, still risking himself, risking _everything_ , out of some strange misguided notion that being a vigilante and putting arrows in people was the only way he could help the city.

It just . . . it broke her heart. Because with what he could do as an author, with what he could do as a man, how could he think his only value was in chasing after criminals in a hood?

That wasn’t to say that crime-fighting wasn’t a noble profession or anything. But Oliver . . . he could write. _Really_ write. She saw that when she read his book. 

She had been in the taxi, going back to the Bellagio, when she realized she had taken not just her shawl and clutch when she left Oliver, but the copy of _Journeys_ he had given her. She had stared at it for the whole cab ride. 

Especially at the author photo. The photo she had taken, the photo that threw her back seven years, when she had looked at the author photo on his first book and felt totally drawn in by Oliver Queen. 

_The photo looked like it had been taken on the beach; she thought she could see the ocean in the far distance. His dirty blonde hair, a bit shaggy and messy, was blowing in the wind and he was half-smiling, half-smirking at the camera. But what made her stare at Oliver Queen was his eyes: because they were an intense shade of blue, with a charismatic power that made her not want to look away. They both invited you in and kept you at a distance. Those eyes said he took you on his terms and you would like it._

Back then, she had been struck by his looks, by his charm and charisma. But now that she knew Oliver, looking at the photo of him on the back of his book . . . it was different, yet still the same.

He had asked her about Instagram, after reading an essay about it in _Stray Wires_. Felicity had demonstrated the app by pulling out her phone and holding the camera lens towards Oliver. “Smile,” she had said, winking at him. It must have struck him as funny, because he had ducked his head a little, laughing and smiling at the same time. The moment was so perfectly _Oliver_ that she had quickly taken his photo. After she had demonstrated how to use the filters, she handed over her phone to let him try it out for himself. Oliver had accidentally posted the photo to Instagram, and Felicity had offered to delete it, but after hesitating for a moment, he had told her it was fine. 

And that photo was now gracing the back of his book. The totally amazing book he had written and dedicated to her. 

Oliver’s book wasn’t what she had expected. She had already read it three times: twice after she got back to the Bellagio and then once on the flight to Starling City. Because there was just so much there--she felt like she discovered something new with each reading. Like ideas that inspired her in a dozen different ways, a thread of wry, deadpan humor, a real talent for expression. Any reader would come away knowing that Oliver Queen had hidden depths. 

Hidden depths that she knew all about. Because he had revealed all his secrets to her, laid himself completely bare and made himself vulnerable to her. Because he loved her. 

Felicity closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the shower, trying to keep herself from crying. From just totally breaking down. Because . . . she didn’t know what to do. 

He had chosen a path that meant heartbreak if she chose him. What were the chances that he would live to see thirty-five, or thirty, or even next year, being a vigilante? The odds weren’t in his favor. He had told her about the wounds he had received during the earthquake--when he was trying to defeat the person in charge of the Undertaking. The plot that his parents had been partially responsible for. 

The idea that he was avenging his father’s wrongs, trying to save Starling City . . . it was heroic. The actions of a man who knew all too well that disaster could strike at any minute and wipe out every bit of security and safety that you had. But . . . but there were so many ways, _safer_ ways, to make the city better. 

If she didn’t get moving, she would be late for dinner. With a small sigh, Felicity turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. But the mindless tasks of getting dressed, drying her hair, and putting on makeup couldn’t distract her from continuing from the debate inside head. 

Choosing Oliver . . . _loving_ him. Being with him was everything she could ever want: a relationship built on shared interests, but with enough differences between them to keep things interesting. There was trust, respect, friendship. Not to mention the crackling chemistry and tension between them, a chemistry that was so electric that Felicity didn’t know how they had only shared two kisses. 

But if they were together, she would always wonder if today was the day that Oliver would leave. Whether by his choice, or by being arrested, or by being killed. 

The thought of Oliver dying made her chest feel tight. She actually had to stop and lean on the bathroom sink for a moment, trying to catch her breath. 

God, she couldn’t lose him like that. That whole ‘better to have loved and lost’ thing was utter crap. She didn’t want that kind of pain. It would be even worse than being attacked--at least that was unexpected, unplanned. Something she couldn’t be prepared for. But loving Oliver, knowing what she knew? That would be walking right up to heartbreak and taking its hand.

_And how is that pain different from the pain of never being with Oliver at all?_

For once, she couldn’t ignore that voice inside herself. Because she didn’t know the answer. She felt like she didn’t know anything. 

Swallowing, Felicity lifted her head, catching her reflection in the mirror over the sink. In spite of her best efforts, her hair wasn’t smooth and shiny, but dull and lank. Her skin looked pale even with foundation. And her eyes were flat and dead. Full of unhappiness and sadness.

With a choked gasp, Felicity closed her eyes. No. No no no no _no_! She--she couldn’t do this. She wasn’t strong enough--she was--

Her legs felt too unsteady and Felicity dropped to the bathroom floor. She pressed her hands to her face as she started to cry, unable to hold back the tears. 

XXX

Library Journal, April 14, 2014  
 **Journeys, Oliver Queen**

This moving, insightful work questions what it means to be a man and survive in today’s world. Yet Queen manages to keep his answers from sounding like another men’s rights screed, instead offering wry observations and flashes of deadpan humor as he charts how a boy becomes a man. Pair this work with a screening of Boyhood for an engaging program.

Starling City Examiner, April 14, 2014  
 **Popular coffee chain expands**

With the success of their Glades location, the Central City-based Jitters Coffeehouse announced they will be opening two new locations in Starling City within the next year. Starling residents have been lining up for the high-octane brew; this news will spread the fame of Jitters even farther. 

Starling City Times, April 15, 2014  
 **Earnings Rise at Queen Consolidated**

CEO Moira Queen closed her first quarter at the helm of her family’s company with a more positive financial outlook and several exciting projects already begun. The Applied Sciences Division, in particular, is seen as the jewel in the QC crown.

Eye on Starling blog, April 15, 2014  
 **Twitter roundup**

dude the arrow’s put on weight! @homeboyz4life

YES! Jitters outside of the Glades! Can get my coffee fix without getting shot @hannah_banana

ollie queen’s back in town and looking fiiiiiine @luckylindsey

anyone got tix to memorial day thing at verdant? dying to go! @StanfordBrad

Read any good books lately? Looking for recs! @miss_bookworm

XXX

As he walked towards Jitters, Oliver wondered if this was a good idea. After all, the coffee shop’s name alone was enough to make him think of Felicity. Of the hours they had spent there, drinking coffee and talking about everything and nothing. Of watching her eyes light up and her hands move. The shapes her lips made as she talked and laughed and smiled. 

But Tommy had asked him to make the coffee run, and after the morning Oliver had experienced, following a pretty crappy night, some caffeine sounded like a really good idea.

Last night’s dinner with his mother and Thea had started off very strangely. Each woman kept asking him leading questions: about the tour and the people he had met, whether he would be free for this upcoming gala or that future charity event. 

It was only when Thea mentioned that Tommy had come over for dinner the week before that Oliver had put the pieces together. 

“Tommy told you about Felicity, didn’t he?” Oliver had looked back and forth between Moira and Thea, then sighed. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Tommy may have mentioned a young woman you’ve grown close to . . .” Moira had begun, only for Thea to interrupt.

“Seriously, Ollie, why didn’t you tell us? She seemed really nice when I met her, and you haven’t really dated anyone since you came back.” 

Oliver had rubbed his thumb against his knife. Part of him wished he could tell them everything. About how he felt about Felicity, about how much he wanted to bring her for dinner and see her laugh with Thea and talk with his mother. But since they couldn’t know why none of that was going to happen, he had to come up with a lie. “There’s . . . Felicity and I are friends, but--but she’s not sure if she wants to be more.” 

Thea had opened her mouth to say something, but to both Queen siblings’ surprise, Moira had given Thea a look and a small shake of her head, before changing the subject. 

Patrol hadn’t been much better. He had definitely felt rusty after a month away, like he was a moment too slow or a fraction less powerful. At least by the end of the night, he was feeling a bit more confident. But he guessed he would have to spend a lot of time working himself back into top shape. 

It seemed like he’d have plenty of free time, though. Since it had been two days and there had been no word from Felicity. 

Logically, he knew that two days wasn’t that much time. He was sure Felicity had a lot to work through. But . . . but today, he just couldn’t find it in himself to be hopeful. 

Not after he spent the morning dealing with Isabel Rochev. 

During their dinner, Felicity had revealed that it was Isabel who told her about his purchase of Ex Astris. At the time, he had been too focused on what he had to tell Felicity to really think about Isabel. 

But now? He saw red whenever he thought about it. Because Isabel had used her anger at him for breaking their contract and had hurt Felicity. Felicity, who had no connection to Isabel at all. Felicity, who mattered to Oliver--which was why Isabel had lashed out at her.

He wasn’t going to let her get away with that. So after he dropped Tommy’s coffee off, he was going to his lawyers, to see if there were any legal avenues he could take. And barring that, there had to be something he could do to knock Isabel down a peg or two.

When he reached Jitters, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. Automatically, his eyes glanced over at the table that he thought of as theirs: in a quiet corner, within line of sight of the door. 

There was a blonde sitting there, and for a moment his heart leapt into his throat, thinking that it was Felicity, thinking that she was there, that they would meet here like something out of a fairy tale and everything would be okay now--

And then she turned her head, and she wasn’t wearing glasses, and Oliver felt the disappointment settle over him like a heavy, choking blanket. 

If this was how he was going to feel every time he saw a blonde, he was in trouble. When would he stop doing this? How long would it take to stop? To spot a brightly-dressed woman, or see a pair of glasses, or smell coffee, and not think of Felicity? 

Oliver kept his head down as he joined the line, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The line moved slowly, like always, and he glanced forward to try and guess how long he would have to wait. For a moment, he flashed back to his first meeting with Felicity after he had returned. 

_The woman was the right height, he thought. But her hair, pulled back in a curly ponytail, was blonde, not brunette. Her coat was a bright purple, vibrant in the sea of black and gray and navy. Her hand, with painted nails in a shade of neon orange, fluttered up around her face for some reason as she scanned the menu board._

_It couldn’t be Felicity Smoak._

_But he wanted it to be her. More than he could understand, more than he had realized. Enough that he had to make sure. So even though it would mean having to wait even longer, Oliver stepped out of his place in line and moved towards the counter, drawing up alongside her. She must have seen him out of the corner of her eye, because she glanced over distractedly._

“Sir? The line’s moving.” 

The impatient voice snapped him out of his memories and made Oliver feel flustered. It wasn’t like him to get distracted like that, to be so lost in his head that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. He was definitely off his game, he thought as he stepped forward. 

Oliver breathed in and out through his mouth a few times, trying to ground himself. By the time he reached the counter, he felt his equilibrium righting itself. 

It only took a few minutes for him to place his order, pay, and pick up the two large coffees. Feeling relieved that he was leaving, getting away from this place that had been so important to his relationship with Felicity, he took five steps towards the door, only to freeze from shock. 

Felicity was walking in. 

And she looked so . . . so _sad_. 

She was wearing a thick MIT sweatshirt and a pair of faded black yoga pants, her feet shoved into her beloved and threadbare panda bear flats. The shoes that were so Felicity, the shoes that always made him smile when he saw her wearing them. 

But he didn’t feel like smiling when he looked at her face. Her hair was back in a messy, frizzy ponytail, her skin was pale, and her eyes looked red and bloodshot. Like she hadn’t been sleeping--or like she had been crying. 

Had she been crying because of him? He wanted to hug her, like she had hugged him, the embrace that had haunted his dreams since that night. If he wrapped his arms around her and held her, maybe she would feel safe and protected. 

Oliver tightened his hands around the coffee cups. He couldn’t. He needed to give her the space and the time she had asked for. Running into her like this, seeing her look so weary and downtrodden . . . he didn’t have the right to comfort her. He needed to get out of here without her seeing him. 

His hands squeezed too hard, making the lid on one of the cups pop off and fall to the floor, the energy of the fall making the lid skitter across the tiles. Coming to a stop in the perfect position for Felicity’s foot to crush it. 

Her head, already tilted down, looked lower, confusion flashing across her face. Then she lifted her head and her eyes made contact with his. 

The feeling he had couldn’t be put into words. It was so many different thoughts and emotions, all mixed and tangled together, and he just--he wanted to touch her so badly, wanted her love and her friendship, wanted everything she was willing to give him and wanted to give her all of himself in return. 

This kind of want, this kind of need . . . he had never experienced anything like it. It felt powerful, intense. He felt it in his bones and he just wanted to know if Felicity might be able to love him back. 

“H-hi.” 

Felicity’s voice shook a little as she stuttered out her greeting. Oliver felt his shoulders tense. He loved her voice.

Clearing his throat, he managed a jerk of a nod. “Hey. I--I was just leaving.” 

Her eyes were locked on his face, not moving. Barely blinking. “Oh,” she said softly. She swallowed, and he could see the muscles move in her throat, could almost see her pulse fluttering under her skin. God, he just wanted to kiss her there, and feel her heart rate pick up because of him. 

“You should--you’ll need a lid, or your coffee will get cold,” she said, her hand gesturing weakly towards the cup that was missing its lid. 

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, taking a step to the side so he could leave plenty of space between them as he walked past. “I--I didn’t know you’d be here. I wasn’t trying to see you, because you asked for space.” 

Something in her face shifted slightly when he said that. He didn’t know what it meant--why her eyes seemed to get a little of their sparkle back, why she seemed to be breathing easier. 

“Oliver--” she started to say, but he cut her off. Needing to get away from her. Because this hurt too much, his walls were down and he just--maybe he needed the space even more than she did. 

“I’ll see you later,” he said lamely, not really waiting for her reply to his ludicrous use of the pleasantry. Because what were the chances that he would see her later? Slim to none, he knew. 

If it wasn’t for the two cups of coffee--and the fact that he didn’t want her to feel guilty about how he was reacting--he would have broken into a run as soon as he was outside of Jitters. 

Instead, he just plodded down the street, gulping his coffee and feeling the hot, bitter brew burn all the way down his throat.

XXX

It was probably good that her first encounter with Oliver post-confession had happened in public. Because it meant she couldn’t let herself sink to the ground, wrap her arms around her knees, and rock back and forth.

How could the briefest, most awkward of conversations make her feel so much? Send her mind and her heart spinning off in different directions, only for them to come together as one? 

Because . . . now she knew what she wanted to do. 

Sitting at a table in Jitters, her coffee growing cold in front of her, Felicity looked at her phone. Rubbing her fingers against the case, kept checking the time to see if Sara’s ten o’clock class was over and she was reading Felicity’s text. They hadn’t spoken since the night before her dinner with Oliver; in the aftermath, Felicity knew that hearing Sara’s voice would make her break down, so she had kept their communication to texts, like the one she had sent Sara backing out on last night’s dinner. And Sara, being an amazing best friend, had returned the favor. 

Of course she would see Oliver dressed in sloppy clothes, looking exhausted and emotionally drained after her night of crying. She had barely gotten any sleep as she struggled all night with the question of whether she wanted to risk this. Wanted to risk the hurt and the heartbreak of being with Oliver--of loving Oliver.

When she woke up this morning, no closer to a decision, she had decided that she needed coffee. She had debated whether or not to go to Jitters, but she knew only their extra-caffeinated drinks would be enough to get her going. To give her the strength to return to her inner debate.

But it turned out she just needed to see Oliver. Three minutes with him was enough for her to know. 

Her phone rang, startling her even though she had been staring at it. Felicity hesitated for a moment and then answered it. “Hi, Sara.” 

“Felicity? Are you okay?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Felicity said, feeling the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. “Sara . . . I love him. I just saw Oliver and--and I love him so much, and I--” 

“Where are you?” Sara asked, her voice firm and brisk. That was probably what she sounded like when she was busy being a vigilante. How had Felicity ended up in this life where she was surrounded by costumed crimefighters? When she was so far from being heroic or extraordinary?

Sara’s voice was loud when she spoke again, interrupting Felicity’s mental ramble. “Felicity! Where are you?” 

“I’m at Jitters,” she said quietly. “Don’t hang up, Sara. I--I don’t know what to do.” 

This time, Sara’s voice was gentle and soft, full of kindness. “I won’t. Did you see Ollie at Jitters?” 

“Uh-huh,” Felicity said, lifting her cup and taking a sip before she remembered it was cold. She made a face and lowered the mug. “I was walking in and he was leaving, and--and the lid popped off one of the cups he had, and I stepped on it. And . . . God, Sara, he looked so heartbroken. I mean, not because I stepped on the lid, but because I was there, and he was there, and--and--” She stopped, taking a moment to breathe deeply. 

Her friend made a small noise, one that could mean a hundred different things. Felicity chewed on her lower lip. “Sara? Have you--have you seen Oliver?” 

“I have,” Sara said softly. “He . . . he looked pretty bad.” 

“Still gorgeous, though,” Felicity said, sniffing a little. “‘Cause he always is. I--I’ve been going round and round, trying to decide what to do, and all it took was seeing him to know. I don’t want to live without knowing, Sara. Without knowing what it was like to be with him, without getting the chance at all. Even if that means we’re only together for a year, or a month, or a day. Stupid Tennyson.” 

“What?” Sara said, the sound of traffic and stray snatches of conversation filtering through the phone. Her voice sounded a bit strained and she was panting a little.

Felicity smiled tightly. “‘Tis better to have loved and lost/than never to have loved at all. Tennyson wrote that.”

“And . . . and that means you’re okay with Ollie? With--with who he is?” 

“I think he could do so much more. Safer things. But . . . but if this is what he needs to do, and he’s not--” Felicity lowered her voice. “If he’s not doing you-know-what to the bad guys . . . he’s not gonna change his mind. He told me that. But maybe--maybe he’ll get a different perspective if he thinks he can do more, if he really believes that. If he has someone to remind him that life can be more. I can’t change him, and I think it’ll take me some time to fully come to peace with it, but--but I’m willing to try. To work with him on this, if he’s willing to work with me.” 

Sara heaved a huge sigh of relief. “I was so worried about that. I knew he wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Not well at first,” Felicity admitted. “But--but he’s really done some good. And . . . and it’s not my job to judge him. There’s too many people that have judged Oliver unfairly. I don’t want to be one of them.” 

“I agree,” Sara said, appearing at Felicity’s side and dropping down into the chair across from her. “So what are you going to do?” 

“Well, first, go home and shower and change,” Felicity said, gesturing to her clothes and hair. “I look like a mess.” She took a deep breath. “And then I’m gonna go see Oliver.” 

She ran her eyes over Felicity, then winced a little. “You do kinda look like something the cat dragged in. But we’ll get you looking better. You’ve got time--Ollie said something about seeing his lawyer this morning before going back to the Foundry.” 

“The Foundry?” Felicity asked curiously. 

“You’ll see,” Sara said, patting Felicity’s hand before rising from her chair. “C’mon, let’s go back to your place.” 

“Don’t you have classes this afternoon?” Felicity asked, standing up and following Sara, who was walking quickly towards the door. 

Over her shoulder, Sara threw her a small grin. “Told ‘em I had an emergency. And I do: a fashion emergency.”

And for the first time in two days, Felicity felt herself laugh. Felt her spirits grow lighter. Because her best friend was going to help her look pretty for the moment she confessed she loved Oliver Queen. 

That feeling of hope, of rightness, carried Felicity through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Sara was relentless, making Felicity do all the grooming tasks that she might normally skip or rush through. 

“Sara! I don’t need to shave my legs--” she protested. 

“Yes, you do. Make sure it’s a close shave!” Sara called out through the closed door of the bathroom. “I’ll be checking and I’ll make you do it again if it isn’t.” 

After that, Felicity just gave up. It was easier to go along, especially since she was so distracted by her worries about what was to come. How would Oliver react? Would he want to talk things over? Or insist that they go on some traditional dates, to adjust to the idea of being a couple? 

Or would he just throw her against a wall and kiss her? 

She felt her legs go trembly and her stomach swoop. Okay, so maybe Sara was right about shaving her legs. 

It wasn’t until she was walking up to Verdant with Sara that she started getting nervous. She hadn’t wanted to delay this conversation long enough to shop for new clothes, so with Sara’s input, she had chosen a bright purple dress with a triangle-shaped cutout over her chest. She had newer dresses, but none of them would go with her magic shoes. And it felt very, very important that she wore them today. 

They were the shoes she wore when she first met Oliver, after all.

But . . . what if her shoes weren’t magic? What if Oliver’s reaction from earlier meant he had changed his mind? That he regretted telling her about himself, that he regretted loving her?

“Stop thinking like that, Felicity,” Sara said as she opened the door to Verdant. “Ollie wants this.” 

“I thought he wasn’t involved in Verdant anymore,” Felicity said, looking around the club she had only read about. 

“He’s not, but he’s here,” Sara said, leading her over to the bar where Tommy and Digg were sitting, each of them sipping a beer. 

Both men greeted Sara, but Felicity hung back for a moment, gripping her hands together. They must not have realized she was here, because Tommy slid his beer towards Sara. “If you’re gonna go downstairs, you’ll want to drink some of that.” 

Sara quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? He’s in a bad mood?” 

“He was on the salmon ladder for an hour before I gave up on trying to make him talk to me to come up here,” Tommy said. 

“And after he kicked my ass three times like that,” Digg said, snapping his fingers, “I came for some painkillers.” He lifted his glass and took another sip. “Man, he’s worked up in knots.” 

“Well, it’s understandable,” Sara said lightly. “He saw Felicity.” 

From her place behind them, Felicity could see both Digg and Tommy react in surprise. “That asshole, he didn’t say a word!” Tommy said.

“Although now everything makes sense,” Digg said. “Damn, she turned him down, didn’t she? I didn’t think that was gonna happen.” 

“Me, neither,” Tommy said, taking a healthy swallow of his beer before standing up, moving as if he was going somewhere. “Time to start damage control--”

“Um, actually, you don’t need to do that--I mean, I haven’t--there hasn’t been any turning down--” 

Her words were a jumbled mess, because she knew how important these people were to Oliver, and she didn’t want them to not like her, and she was nervous because she felt very overdressed for three in the afternoon. 

And because she has no idea how Oliver was going to react to her just showing up here. And also, what the hell was a salmon ladder?

Digg and Tommy were both staring at her, while Sara had a cat who got the canary expression on her face. In the back of her mind, Felicity winced at the pun, then took a deep breath. “I’d like to see Oliver, please.” 

A wide smile creased Tommy’s face, and Digg stood up, his normally stoic face totally changed by the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Right this way,” Tommy said, walking over to her and taking her arm. 

XXX

The clanging of the bar slamming home into each rung of the salmon ladder filled the Foundry. At the pace he was going, he was probably grunting loudly. But right now, Oliver couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of Felicity saying his name. Like she had in Jitters. But the more he thought about it, the less he knew how she had said it.

“Oliver--” Happy. Excited to see him.

“Oliver--” Disappointed in him. Frustrated by him.

“Oliver--” Completely apathetic.

That was the most chilling version. Hearing Felicity sound so flat and uninterested. Because that wasn’t her. She was all enthusiasm and passion and life. 

At least, she was that before she met him. Before he told her his secrets, before he made her cry--

Coming to a stop at the top of the ladder, Oliver breathed deeply. The muscles in his arms and shoulders and back burned as he let himself hang from the bar, but it couldn’t compare to the way his heart ached. He just . . . 

It had only been two days. How could he live with this for a week? A month? Forever? 

He knew that everyone was worried about him. Tommy and Digg had been exchanging looks behind his back all day, ever since he had returned from the totally unproductive meeting with his lawyers. They had told him there was nothing he could do about Isabel legally, so he should just let it go. 

But he couldn’t. No more than he could let Felicity go. 

With a sigh, he slowly lowered himself down the ladder, dropping from the bar and landing in a crouch. He rubbed his arm over his face, wiping away some of the sweat--or maybe just smearing it from his face to his arm--and turned around.

To see one of the most moral, ethical people he knew, in his secret vigilante base, only a few feet from the arrows he put into people. 

To see the woman he loved in the midst of death and darkness and destruction. 

To see Felicity, standing at the bottom of the staircase, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. 

Oliver actually blinked. There was no way she was here. Some sweat must have dripped into his eyes or he was hallucinating her. She--she couldn’t be here. 

“What--what is that?” she asked, gesturing towards the salmon ladder. 

_Oh, shit_. He was sweaty and shirtless, and she looked so damn beautiful, and--she must have been watching him as she came down the stairs. 

“Felicity?” he asked, feeling very confused. His voice caught a little bit on her name, feeling a swell of emotion at seeing her here in the Foundry. The last place he ever thought she would be.

“Do you do that every night? Is that how you’re all . . . that?” she said, gesturing wildly at his torso.

“I . . . yes?” he said slowly, feeling very lost. Because just this morning, she had looked broken-hearted and defeated, and now she looked . . . beautiful. Her hair was partially drawn back from her face with soft curls laying on her shoulders, her eyes were bright, she was wearing a purple dress that he vaguely remembered, and--oh, God. She was wearing those heels again, the ones she wore at that book signing. When he had asked her to meet him for coffee and started . . . this. 

Felicity stared at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, my brain is the worst. This was not how I planned to start this conversation.” 

“What--what are you doing here?”

He had to stay still, because Felicity was between him and his shirt. And he was worried that if he got too close to her, his control might finally snap. 

Her fingers rubbed against her scar for a moment, then she opened her eyes and looked at his face. “I . . . I guess I should have called first. Or texted. It’s the preferred communication method, really. It’s not just for teenagers.” 

Swallowing, he took a small step towards her. “Felicity, please tell me why you’re here.” 

The words hung in the air, adding to the tension between them. He was trying not to hope, trying not to let himself get carried away, but . . . she was _here_. She had come to him. Would she come in person to tell him that she didn’t want him? It seemed too cruel for Felicity. No, she’d find a way to let him down easily. She wouldn’t take his suggestion of just not talking to him if she decided this wasn’t going to work. But like she said, she would have called or texted. 

“I--I wanted to talk to you. When I saw you earlier, I knew what I wanted to do, not that I knew how to say it, and I still kinda don’t, so maybe it was a good thing you just left without us talking,” Felicity said, her fingers twisting and clutching at the handle of her bag. 

“There’s actually a question I’ve wanted to ask you, since you told me about--about all this,” Felicity continued, hesitantly gesturing towards the arrows. 

“You can ask me whatever you want,” he said quietly, trying not to clench his fists at his sides.

She nodded and squared her shoulders. “Why? Why this? Why not . . . anything else?” 

Her voice wasn’t angry. It was more . . . curious. Like she really wanted to know. And it made him realize that no one had ever really asked him that. Not so directly. It took him a moment to come up with the words that could best capture his thoughts.

“When I was gone . . . I saw nothing but the ugliness of human nature,” he said slowly, his eyes dropping from hers as he spoke. “And I spent five years thinking about the people on the List, the people who took advantage of their power and position. They weren’t going to respond to the courts or public opinion. They would only respond to fear. And--and I was something to be scared of.”

“And you--you . . . you didn’t just put the fear of God in them, though, did you?” 

Hearing Felicity’s voice tremble, even if he thought she sounded more uncertain than scared, made him feel more shame and guilt than he thought possible. He swallowed and nodded, not trusting his voice. 

“But you stopped. Why? What changed?” 

Oliver didn’t know where she was going with this. Whether she was scared of him, or concerned about him, or getting ready to tell him her decision. But whatever she wanted to know, he would tell her. 

“Well, Tommy and I . . . that was part of it,” he said slowly. “When he found out about me, he was--he was upset. Angry. He didn’t understand. It made me start thinking. And then when he was hurt during the Undertaking, when I realized that taking out names on the List wasn’t stopping anything, it made me reconsider.” He paused and slowly lifted his head so he could look at her. “And I had changed.” 

Felicity took a step towards him, his skin tingling at her proximity. “Changed how?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face. 

His tongue felt even more clumsy than usual. “I--I started realizing that people had goodness, too. Thea, Tommy, Digg. Even my mother.” He swallowed, unable to look away from her. “But it was mostly you.” 

“Me?” she whispered, her eyes going wide. 

Unable to stop himself, Oliver stepped even closer to her. “You. You--you went through your own hell, and you didn’t stop believing in people. You kept going, kept being strong, even when you were struggling. I wanted to be like you. To see the positive in humanity and not just the darkness.” 

“With the panic attacks and running from my feelings and everything else?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m not that special. I just--I just kept getting up every day. But I didn’t do anything to try and fix the real problem. To help other women like me, to speak out against cyber-bullying--” 

“Hey,” he said, moving on instinct to rest his hand on her shoulder. Wanting to comfort her. But the moment his fingers touched her, he felt his breath catch and his heart speed up. And he forgot everything he wanted to say to her.

“Oliver,” she whispered, her eyes very blue and very big behind her glasses. He could almost hear her swallow, and then she stepped even closer to him. One of her hands landed lightly on his hip and he nearly gasped. 

He couldn’t look away as she lifted her other hand and delicately brushed her fingertips over the tattoo on his left pec. “This--it’s from the Bratva, right?” 

Oh, God. Oliver nearly answered her in Russian, his mind was spinning so much. “Yes--Felicity, what--” 

“Shh,” she said softly, before she leaned in to press a feather-light kiss over the tattoo.

Everything just . . . stopped. At the touch of her lips against his skin, his mind went blank. His heart skipped a beat. He stopped breathing. Because she--she was--

“You said your first day on the island, you got shot with an arrow.” 

Her voice was so . . . it wasn’t seductive. Not on purpose. It was low and soft and full of something--he thought he knew what it was, but he wasn’t sure, he didn’t know how to ask her if this was what he thought it was. 

Distractedly, he nodded and half-gestured towards his right shoulder. Felicity nodded, then leaned up, steadying herself against him as she kissed the scar from Yao Fei’s arrow. 

His eyes fell shut at the feelings sweeping through him. His hands moved, cupping her forearms underneath her elbows and holding her in place. She pulled her lips away from him, but didn’t step back. She didn’t say anything. They just waited in silence, their breathing falling into sync.

But Oliver was tired of waiting. 

He opened his eyes, immediately meeting her gaze. “Felicity?” he asked slowly, all of his questions wrapped up in her name. 

_Do you love me? Do you want this? Do you know how much I love you? Will you go home with me tonight? Will you help me be better? Will you stay with me for as long as we’ve got?_

As he looked into her eyes, he almost thought he could see the answers. But he had to hear her say the words. He needed to hear them to be sure.

XXX

Felicity knew how she was going to start. She was going to ask Oliver to tell her why he had started being the Arrow, ask him all the questions she had thought of while he was telling her about his past. She would be honest about her hesitations, her worries, her concerns. But she knew she was ready to try. To admit that she was scared--but more scared of not being with him. 

And then she walked down the stairs and saw Oliver using what must be the salmon ladder, and her mind went away. 

He was _magnificent_. His muscles flexed and bunched as he levered himself up the ladder, his body swinging from the momentum he was creating. It was hypnotic and compelling and she just wanted to lick away the sweat that ran down the valley between his shoulder blades. Which should be gross, but was suddenly the most crazily attractive idea Felicity had ever had. 

With his back to her, he didn’t know she was there. Not until he dropped from the bar at the bottom of the ladder and turned around. And then he just stared at her, his eyes wide and so bright in the dimly-lit basement. 

(He had his superhero lair underneath a club that he used to own? He was _so_ incredibly lucky that no one had put two and two together and gotten ‘Oliver Queen is the Arrow’!)

When he blinked, it was like the spell was broken and Felicity felt her mouth take over without any input from her brain. “What--what is that?”

Why was she doing this? Felicity fumbled her way towards the questions she wanted to ask, while Oliver kept looking at her, so confused and sad and lost, and her heart just kept breaking more and more for how he looked at her until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Especially when he started complimenting her. Saying that she was strong and he wanted to be like her. 

Because . . . _seriously_? He was the one who was actually helping people! Not her. 

The fact that he had so little idea of the good he could be doing--the good he was already doing, even if she didn’t agree with his methods and was really scared by them at times--made her feel completely overwhelmed. 

And then he touched her. It was nothing: his hand on her shoulder. He had done that a hundred times before. But this time it was different. 

She was tired of waiting. 

Stepping forward carefully, she rested a hand on his hip. Moving slowly, wanting to make this very, very clear to him. She touched his chest, almost shivering from how good it felt to run her fingers over his skin, even if it was the tattoo that showed his allegiance to the Russian mob. 

But she wanted him to know she was accepting every part of him. It had been two days since he had offered himself and she hadn’t given him an answer. But now she was telling him what she had decided. 

Touching her lips to his tattoo, she could feel the smallest of trembles go through him as she kissed his chest. She lifted her head and looked up at him, seeing the emotions swirling in his eyes and hoping he would let her see this through. Because she needed to do this--and she thought he needed this, too. 

Felicity carefully kissed his first scar. His hands came up, holding her arms and keeping her in place against his chest. But Oliver didn’t need to worry about her leaving. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Not when he opened his eyes and looked at her like that, not when he said her name like he was standing on the edge of a precipice and was ready to throw himself off, but not unless she took his hand and jumped, too. 

It was a good metaphor, Felicity thought as she smiled softly up at him. “I love you, Oliver.”

Saying the words felt so good. Like her shoulders finally unknotted from the tension she had been carrying for days--no, weeks. Ever since she had realized how she felt about him. The tension that had only grown worse after he told her who he was and she had to adapt to this new Oliver, who was still the same Oliver. But her feelings had never changed. She loved him. 

His reaction was immediate. His hands let go of her arms and wrapped around her waist, bending his knees a little to be closer to her. “Again?” he asked, his voice soft and coaxing, with just a hint of desperation. 

“I love you, Oliver,” she repeated happily, wrapping her arms around his neck. Before she had even finished, he was kissing her. 

_Ohhhhhhh_. So this was what it felt like to really kiss Oliver. 

Like she was being devoured, even as she devoured him. 

God, this was amazing. She held on to him as tightly as she could, needing his solid body, needing his strength, as she kissed him with everything she had. Sucking on his lower lip, sliding her tongue against his, running her nails through his hair and hearing--and feeling--his moan. Unable to hold back one of her own as his hands dragged slowly up her back to cup her head. 

“Oliver,” she whispered against his lips, loving the sound of his name. Loving that she got to say it like this, their breath passing back and forth between them. 

“I love you,” he said, resting his forehead against hers for a moment, his eyes meeting hers and filled with so much light that she felt like she might go blind. “I love you, Felicity.” 

She felt like she was drowning in warmth. Every time he had said ‘I love you’ to her, the words had meant something. But now? When he was saying them after she had said them to him? It was as if the whole world had disappeared and it was just them. Because nothing could get in the way of the connection between them. 

Why was he so tall? She needed him closer.

When Oliver huffed out a small laugh, a delighted smile appearing on his face, Felicity closed her eyes. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Yup,” he said, kissing her quickly. “Hold on, I can fix that.” 

What was he going to do, cut off half his legs? But before Felicity could do more than think the thought, Oliver was bending down and scooping her up in his arms. His frankly amazing arms. The arms that already made her feel so safe and protected and cherished. 

Letting out a gasp of surprise, Felicity held on to him tightly as he carried her to one of the metal tables. He gently lowered her onto the cold surface, his hands stroking her hips. “Better?” he asked, moving close to her and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. 

“Much,” she said, spreading her legs and pulling him in against her, wrapping her knee around his hip. 

He laughed--which was frankly the best sound ever--and kissed her slowly, his lips moving against hers and God, she loved him. 

Felicity stroked his shoulders, because she could, and slowly pulled away to look at him. His lips were red and she smiled as she reached out to rub away the lipstick with her thumb. “You look good in that color.” 

“You look better,” he said, kissing the pad of her thumb. 

It wouldn’t befit a strong, confident woman like herself to giggle at that, right? But there was nothing wrong with giving him a big, beaming smile, Felicity thought. 

His hands slid from her hips to gently knead the very bottom of her back, just above her hips. It brought him even closer to her, made her heart flutter in her chest and her head tip back to look at him. He gazed into her eyes as he kept massaging her lower back and . . . wow. That was--that was good. 

“Felicity,” he said softly. “I’ve never done this before. Had a real relationship, I mean. I . . . I’m probably gonna screw up a lot.” 

“It’s been a really long time since I was with anyone, myself,” she admitted. “And I’ve never felt like this before.” She paused and gave him a small smile. “It’s a little scary.” 

A quick smile flashed across his face as he nodded. “Yeah.” 

“We’ll both make mistakes,” she said, letting her fingers trace the lines of the muscles and bones in his shoulders. “We’ll get mad and yell at each other. We’ll both have to learn how to give a little. But--but just so you know, we will always work it out.” 

“We will?” he asked, his voice so full of hope and belief that she suddenly had the clearest image of him as a little boy, asking his parents if Santa Claus really existed. 

She didn’t want to cry and give him the wrong idea, so she smiled at him instead. “Yeah. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re it for me.” 

This wasn’t the time to be so serious, so she held back that there was no ‘pretty sure’ about this. Felicity knew that Oliver was the one for her. She knew it in her bones.

When Oliver smiled at her, though, she thought he might already know that. “I’m pretty sure you’re it for me, too,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. 

How could something so sweet and tender make her want to climb him like a tree? It must be an Oliver thing. 

“So . . . is it okay if we go back to my place? I’m not saying I’m against making love down here, but I thought for our first time, a bed would be nice--” 

Oliver cut her off by kissing her hungrily, his mouth firm and eager against hers. “God, yes,” he panted. “Your place is closer than mine. And your mother doesn’t live with you.” 

Laughing softly, Felicity slipped off the table. “You might want to fix that, Oliver, unless you wanna have a lot of uncomfortable morning afters.” She took a step and wobbled on her heels, finding that her legs were very, very weak. 

“I’ll start apartment hunting first thing tomorrow,” Oliver said, steadying her with his hands on her hips, but then he paused and smirked. “Maybe not first thing.” 

“Let’s go home,” she said, holding on to the waistband of his pants. “Get your shirt and we can sneak past your friends upstairs.” 

For a long moment, Oliver gazed at her. Then, he smiled softly and nodded. “Let’s go home, Felicity.” 

End.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Who wants a rated-E epilogue about Oliver and Felicity’s first time? [waits for the reaction] Yeah, I was really hoping it would be something like that. :-) 
> 
> This is my first time writing something this explicit for Oliver and Felicity, so I hope you enjoy it! Many thanks to mersayseh for reading this over.

It had been so long since Oliver Queen had been really happy that he wasn’t prepared for just how _good_ it felt. He thought he had been happy in the year and a half since he returned from the island, but . . . he hadn’t. Not like this. 

Not with Felicity in his arms, kissing him hungrily as he pressed her against the door of her apartment. He rocked against her, his hands moving down, wanting to lift her legs up around his waist, wanting her closer. 

“Oliver--Oliver, gotta unlock the door . . . ohhh . . .” 

Groaning, Oliver lifted his head. “Keys?” 

Felicity shoved her keys into his hand and then attacked his neck, kissing and licking the skin exposed over the collar of his t-shirt. 

He was going to fall apart if she kept doing that. Oliver shifted enough to put the barest amount of distance between them, enough to clear his mind and let him get the right key into the lock. 

“Come in, Oliver,” Felicity said, reaching behind her to open the door with one hand while the other pulled him down for another kiss. 

“Yes,” he muttered against her lips as he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up against him. 

She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, making him groan again. “Felicity--”

“Too much?” she asked, pulling away from him and gazing into his eyes. 

“Not enough,” he said, kicking the door shut and pressing her against it. And then he did what he had wanted to do since she kissed his chest in the Foundry. 

He leaned in slowly and brushed the most delicate of kisses against the scar on her neck. 

Underneath his lips, she tensed even as she let out a soft, breathy sigh. Her hands tightened on his shoulders before relaxing. He looked up at her, moving his lips to her jaw. “Okay?” he asked, gently rubbing her thighs.

“I . . . I just--no one’s ever--” 

“Hey,” he said softly, moving so he could look right at her. “If you don’t want me to touch you there, I won’t.” 

Felicity shook her head and slid her hand up to stroke his cheek. “I want you to touch me everywhere. It just--it was surprising, what I felt, when you kissed my scar.” 

Given how he had felt when she had kissed his, Oliver could understand her reaction. He gave her a small smile and brushed back some of her hair. “I know.” 

“Of course you do,” she said, her fingers now running over his lips. “But you know I still only see you first, and then the scars, right?”

“Yes,” he said softly, believing her. Unable to do anything but believe her, because he trusted her. And feeling the same way about her. 

“Okay, you need to kiss me right now,” Felicity said, moving her hand to sink her fingers into his cropped hair and pull him in. 

Oliver responded immediately. He wanted to kiss her forever--Felicity, with her soft warm lips that tasted faintly of cherries. For long, endless moments, they stayed still except for their mouths moving against each other’s, pausing only to breathe before beginning again. 

It was more romantic than any other moment in his life, not to mention the sexiest make out ever. And it was with Felicity. 

That thought alone was enough to make the banked fire inside him spark to life. But he wasn’t going to rush this. Not when there was so much he wanted to do with her. 

He kissed her deeper, hearing Felicity moan softly. Her fingers gripped his hair tightly and she pulled away with a gasp. “Bed.” 

“Not yet,” he said, lowering her legs to the floor. 

Her confused blink was so damn adorable, contrasting with her smeared lipstick and flushed cheeks. “Not yet?” she repeated. 

“Not until I get to look at you,” he said, whipping his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He leaned his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes as he settled his hands on her hips. “Okay?” 

It took her a moment to respond, because she seemed to be a bit distracted by his chest. Oliver couldn’t help grinning. “Felicity . . .” 

“Right. Looking at me. Good, good,” she said, her hands slowly reaching out to touch his abs. When she pressed her hands against his stomach, her fingers spread wide, Oliver felt his grin fade. Because her hands felt so amazing. 

“You’re magnificent,” Felicity said softly, her words escaping on her exhale. 

Normally, he would disagree. Or let himself fall into a spiral of self-doubt and loathing at what he had done. But today . . . he could only smile and shake his head. “Thank you, I guess.” 

“You guess? Do you not own any mirrors, Oliver Queen?” she asked, looking up at him with her lips pursed. 

He would not pass up the opportunity to kiss her when her lips were pouted like that, so Oliver leaned in and kissed her lightly. “I do, but I’m more interested in what you look like at this point,” he said, moving his hands to her back and slowly lowering the zipper on her dress.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “You did say that.” 

“Yep,” he said, feeling that happiness inside himself again. The joy of having Felicity, the excitement of this being real. The rare sense that maybe, just maybe, all the suffering and pain from the past seven years was worth it if it meant he was here with her. 

Slowly, he slid one hand into the opening created by the lowered zipper, his fingertips skating over the skin of her back. She shivered a little, but she kept her eyes fixed on his. Her own fingertips flexed against his abs and Oliver kissed her again, slower this time. 

This was everything. What he had always wanted, what he didn’t know he needed-- _everything_.

Lifting his hand from her back, Oliver gently began to ease her dress down. Felicity pulled her hands away from him so he could drop her clothing to the floor. Then her hands were stroking the ridges of his abdomen as she leaned up to kiss him. 

It felt too good to stop her, but as soon as she took a breath, Oliver stepped back. “My turn,” he said, holding her eyes with his. Waiting for her to be ready.

After a long moment, her face softened, and Felicity nodded. “Although I feel like you should drop these,” she said, her hand going to his waistband and tugging a little at his pants. “Just to be fair.” 

“I’m all about fairness,” he said, holding her eyes as he moved his hands to his belt, undoing it slowly. 

“I--I’m sure you are, Oliver,” she said, her voice catching a little. 

With a grin, he popped the button of his cargo pants, but then stopped. “Boots first,” Oliver said, crouching down to untie them.

“God, you are a tease,” she groaned. 

He looked up to grin at her, only to stop and stare. Because it was Felicity, in just her underwear, leaning against the wall. Just her underwear--a lacy black bra and panties--and her very high heels. 

She was right. He was a tease. But even more towards himself than towards her, for denying himself such a vision. Because she was so fucking _perfect_. Curvy and pale-skinned, with a few scars that ran along the left side of her body and just made her into Felicity. 

The woman he loved. 

Stripping off his boots quickly, Oliver stood up and pressed Felicity against the wall, attacking her mouth with his own. Felicity half-sighed, half-moaned, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Finally,” she muttered, one hand going down to lower his zipper.

“Felicity,” he panted, his hands stroking her sides, brushing his thumbs against her breasts and feeling her breathe harder, pressing his hands against her back before gripping her rounded, gorgeous ass. He took a step back, pulling them away from the wall. “Bed?” 

“Over there,” she gestured with her head, behind her. Her hands were busy pushing his pants down and then holding on to his hips. 

Because he wasn’t about to trip by getting his feet caught in his pants, he stopped long enough to step out of them before he scooped up Felicity in his arms. She let out a chuckle. “You really like doing that.” 

“I do,” he said, grinning at her. “I’m addicted.” 

To everything about her, he thought as he kissed her slowly. And then his legs bumped up against her bed and he lowered them both to the mattress. 

XXX

She hadn’t expected this. Wanted this, hoped for this, yes. But to realize how amazing it was to hold Oliver and kiss him and be kissed by him, to see his eyes go dark as he looked at her and for him to continually pick her up like he needed her as close as possible . . . 

The independent woman side of Felicity muttered that she wasn’t an invalid and she was perfectly able to walk backwards towards her bed with him. But even that part of her personality admitted that Oliver was hot and after all, he would probably get tired of hefting her up all the time. 

And then Oliver kissed her neck, his lips soft against her scar, and she forgot about thinking.

His hands moved over her slowly, his eyes watching his progress. The intensity in his gaze made her stomach clench and her nipples tighten until she was ready to rip her bra off to gain relief from the friction. It was dizzying to have him look at her like this. Like he was cataloging every inch of her, searching out what she liked, what she wanted. 

Meanwhile, she couldn’t stop touching him. Stroking all the firm, bulging muscles. Tracing the veins in his arms. Gently smoothing her fingertips over the rough patches of skin and the raised lines of scars. Pressing her lips to his bristly stubble, the soft skin of his neck, the callouses on his fingertips. It shouldn’t be possible for a man to feel this good. 

“Oliver,” she said, needing to keep saying his name. Needing to remind herself that this was happening, he was here, she really had gone to him and told him she loved him. That this wasn’t a dream that she was going to wake up from, all alone in her bed. 

His eyes met hers, a small smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. It wasn’t like those little fake smiles he gave her when they reconnected. No, this was full of warmth and affection and love and a _lot_ of desire. 

“Felicity,” he said softly, sliding his hands up to her face and kissing her slowly. 

The way the pace kept shifting between them--ravenous kisses and then leisurely touches--was making her soak her underwear. It made her feel so unsteady, like he was the only solid thing in the world. 

When Oliver went back to his slow examination, Felicity propped herself up on her elbows and brought her lips to his. She kissed him slowly, tugging on his lower lip with her teeth. It made him gasp, which was a big turn-on--huge, in fact--and she grinned at him even as she pushed his boxer-briefs down a little. “You ready to move on?” 

“God, yes,” he said, kissing her deeply as one hand went behind her back. She couldn’t help giggling a little as he fumbled with her bra clasp, and he stopped kissing long enough to give her a flustered, annoyed, adorable look. 

“Having trouble?” she asked innocently, twisting her arm underneath herself and pressing her breasts up in the air as she undid her bra.

“It’s been a while,” he said, his eyes fixed on her chest. 

She paused for a moment, wondering when _was_ the last time Oliver had done this. Was it as long ago as her last time? But the hungry way he was staring at her made her ignore those questions. Instead, she slowly laid down and pulled her bra off. Letting him look at her, even if she felt her hands itching to cover her breasts or her scars. 

There were only a few: other than the one on her neck, there were scars on her shoulder, over her ribs, and on her hip, running in a line down her left side. Steel-toed boots and brass knuckles had inflicted the damage, leaving her with permanent, albeit less vivid, reminders of what had happened to her. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Oliver’s voice was soft but passionate. As if he was speaking an inalienable truth. One hand cupped her breast while the other one stroked her stomach, making her arch up against him. 

“Felicity--” he said, cutting himself off by kissing her deeply. She held on to his biceps as she kissed him back, feeling drunk on his kisses. 

She was done with talking. With the flirting and the banter and everything else. She needed him, now, inside her. 

With greedy hands, she pushed his briefs down and grabbed his ass--oh my God, why had she taken so long to do that?--pulling him in against her. Oliver squeezed her breast, making her groan against his mouth. 

His talented fingers yanked her underwear down a little, and she started wiggling to get them off. And then Oliver’s hands were like iron, holding her hips still. 

When she looked up at him, she couldn’t help feeling proud. No, smug. Because the muscles in his neck were standing out, his jaw was clenched, and he was biting his lower lip. Because of her. 

And then she realized she was so wet she was probably dripping on her sheets, which was a little gross and also really hot and had never happened before, and . . . well, she just wanted him. No, it was more than that.

“I need you,” she whispered, lifting up to brush a kiss over his lips.

Felicity watched, could actually see in his eyes, when Oliver let go of his control. And then it was a flurry of hands and lips as they tossed aside their underwear and they got a condom and--

He paused, gazing into her eyes. “I love you,” he said, his body practically vibrating as he looked at her. 

“I love you,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. Already feeling full of love. 

But when he slid into her, Felicity realized she had no idea of what being full meant. Because she was overflowing with love and affection and trust. And with Oliver. 

Oliver inched into her, his eyes locked on hers. It was so intimate, beyond anything she had ever experienced, and she could see everything he was feeling, and she knew he loved her and she loved him and oh, God, he really needed to move--

Like he was some kind of mind reader, Oliver rocked against her and Felicity groaned. “Yes . . .” she breathed out, moving her hands to the back of his neck and holding on as he started to thrust. 

“Felicity,” he whispered, lowering down so his chest brushed against hers every time he sank into her, and that was--that was really, really, _really_ good.

Her mind felt too overloaded to really keep track of what was happening. It was all just momentary sensations: his lips against her neck, his hand clutching at her knee as he pulled it higher, clenching around him and hearing him curse softly in something that might be Russian. Which was also really, really, _really_ good. 

It didn’t take long. Not with their extended foreplay. Beyond just the last hour: she felt like they had been moving towards this moment for the last month--or even longer. Maybe since the day she had turned her head in Jitters and saw him standing there. 

Or even before then. 

All Felicity knew was that her climax was explosive and intense, making her whole body freeze in utter stillness before she shattered into a shaking, trembling, babbling mess. 

Just on the edge of her finish, she felt Oliver let go and she managed to tighten her hold on him as he shuddered and cursed. Then he slumped against her, all boneless and loose, and she felt like crying. 

Especially when he sighed her name and ran his hand over her hair, before his arms wrapped around her and held her against him.

Felicity pressed her face against the hollow of his throat, breathing in and out and using the scent of sex and sweat and Oliver to get her brain working again. 

“We’re really good at that.” 

His chest rumbled a little as he laughed silently. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft and lazy, sounding so relaxed that she immediately wanted to keep him in a post-coital state as much as she could. Because he always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the thought of giving him a break from all that made her want to be a nymphomaniac.

Well, that, and other reasons, she thought, smiling and pressing a kiss to his collarbone. Her eyes felt heavy and she wanted to stay like this forever. 

When he started moving, she pouted and looked up at him. He grinned and kissed her softly. “Gonna clean up. Be right back,” he said against her lips.

“Mmmm, ‘kay,” she said, feeling sleep start to overtake her. But even as she gave in to unconsciousness, she felt Oliver brush a kiss over her temple, slide her glasses off, and pull the covers over her before he left. 

XXX

Oliver sped through his time in Felicity’s bathroom, even though he felt the urge to go through her medicine cabinet and the cabinet under her sink and her shower, to see if he could find the things that helped make her into her. But then he remembered that he had Felicity, naked, in bed, and that let him get through his quick wash-up in record time. 

With a damp washcloth in his hand for Felicity, he walked back towards her bed, only to stop and gaze down at her. 

Felicity had sprawled out on her back, the covers now barely covering her chest. Her hair was a mess of tousled waves spread across the pillow, and one hand was draped in a lazy and seductive arc over her head.

This was all he wanted. Her. And he almost couldn’t believe that he had it. That she had come to him, that she was willing to trust him, that she loved him. 

He set the washcloth down on the purple painted nightstand beside her bed, then slid underneath the covers, moving close to her and wrapping his arm around her midsection. Felicity let out a soft little sound, then shifted onto her side, curling in against him with a sigh. “Mm, Oliver.” 

“Are you actually awake?” he asked, brushing a kiss over her forehead. Unable to not smile at her soft, sleepy voice. 

“Kinda.” Her hand patted against his chest, then began tracing the line of his pecs. 

With a grin, he rested his face against her hair. Felicity seemed to be very handsy. 

Not that there was anything wrong with that, he thought as he slowly stroked his hand over her hip. Marveling in how smooth her skin was, the gentle curves that made up her body. How his hand seemed made for the dip of her waist. 

For a few long moments, they just kept touching each other. Felicity’s hand drifted lower to dip into each ridge of his abdomen, her eyes still shut. But when he slid his hand lower to cup her ass, she slowly blinked and looked up at him. “Hey,” she said, her lips adorably pursed. “You’re feeling me up.”

“That is what I was doing,” he said, grinning at her. “Your ass was calling to me.” 

“Oh, was it?” she said, lifting her eyebrows before turning her head, as if trying to look down at her bottom. “I should probably look into that.”

He half-laughed, half-snorted, then pulled her in for a long kiss. She kissed him back, her arm reaching up to wrap around his neck. 

“Felicity,” he whispered against her lips. 

She broke the kiss and looked up at him, squinting a little as if trying to see him clearly without her glasses. “You do that a lot. Say my name.” 

“I know,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “I like your name.” 

Way back, when he had discovered that this woman named Felicity Smoak thought he had potential as a writer, he had actually looked up what Felicity meant. When he learned it meant ‘happiness,’ he had actually rolled his eyes. Because that was pretty cheesy. 

But now, her name made total sense. 

“Yeah?” she asked, smiling up at him. 

“Yeah,” he said, kissing her lightly. “I bet there was never another girl in your class named Felicity.” 

“Never,” she agreed, her hand lightly stroking the back of his neck. “How about you? Any other Olivers?” 

He shook his head, shifting so he could prop his head up on his free hand. “Nope. No Olivers. Although except when I was in trouble, no one called me that growing up.” 

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “Yeah . . . I’m glad you’re not Ollie now. I like Oliver better.” 

“Me, too,” he said, his hand starting to wander again. This time, he let his fingers walk up her side, before lightly stroking the outside curve of her breast. 

Her eyes went soft and she breathed out slowly. “Oliver . . .” 

“Are you very sore?” he asked, cupping her breast. 

“No . . .” she said, drawing out the word. 

That made him smile. Because he was far from satisfied. 

Leaning in, Oliver kissed Felicity slowly, his fingers stroking her breast before plucking lightly at her nipple. She gasped and arched her back, pressing into his hand and making his cock twitch. 

Which was fast for him, to be nearly ready to go again. But he could wait. This time was for Felicity. Since he was very, very eager to explore her body more. 

“On your back,” he said softly, kicking the covers away from them. 

“Oliver,” she said, sounding breathless. 

“Please, Felicity,” he said before kissing her slowly. “Please.” 

Oliver pulled back so he could look at her face and see the thoughts flickering through her eyes. And when he saw the anticipation in her face, he knew she was ready. 

Slowly, with a more-relaxed version of her normal quick movements, Felicity turned onto her back, her hands resting palm-down on the mattress by her hips. He could see her chest rising as she breathed a little faster, and he got the sense that she was excited. 

Going down on a woman wasn’t something he did often. Not because he didn’t enjoy it . . . but more because it felt a lot more intimate than sex. Something you didn’t do with a random one-night stand. 

But this was just the first night of many with Felicity. Even though it was barely five o’clock in the afternoon. 

Smiling a little, Oliver pressed a kiss to her neck, then began kissing lower. Savoring the texture of her skin, so soft and warm. He licked along her collarbones, tasting a little bit of sweat and the sweetness underneath. Felicity let out a soft giggle. “Oliver!” 

“What? You taste good,” he said, grinning up at her. 

Her cheeks went pink, then she lifted her chin. “This is making me very eager to get my mouth on your abs, mister.” 

“Looking forward to it,” he said, meaning every word, even as his cock hardened more. “Later.” 

Then he resumed kissing and licking his way down her body, adding in some gentle and not-so-gentle sucks when he got to her breasts. Because they were fairly close to being perfect, especially once her nipples were bright pink from his mouth. 

Felicity started moaning as soon as he reached her breasts. As he moved lower, towards her waist, the moans got softer, breathier, almost like whimpers. He had to hold his groin away from the mattress, because otherwise he’d start grinding against the bed as he kept going. 

And then he was settling himself between her legs, and Felicity sucked in a deep breath. “Oliver, you--you don’t have to--” 

“I want to,” he said, looking up her body at her face. She was beautiful, even with her hair a mess and her eyes squinting at him. 

After a moment, her face relaxed and she nodded. “O-okay.” Her voice was a little high-pitched, and she was nibbling on her lower lip, so Oliver resolved to take this slow. Even if he wanted to immediately bury his face against her center. 

Instead, he began by stroking her inner thighs, easing her legs further apart. He brushed his cheeks against her legs, liking how his stubble turned her skin pink, but being gentle with that. He didn’t want to hurt her. 

The tension was starting to drain out of her--he could feel her relaxing, the more time he spent kissing her thighs and hips. And that was good and bad. He wanted her to enjoy this and not be nervous . . . but he also wanted her tense, shivering with lust and anticipation. 

So he slowly licked her, and she stiffened with a gasp, and he nearly groaned. Because God, she was so amazing. 

Oliver let himself get lost in her. He focused on each and every reaction. The way her hands were fisted in the bed sheets before one reached down into his hair, gripping the short strands. How she rocked her hips up to bring herself closer to him. The sounds she made, which were enough to make him come, he was pretty sure. Because she was all breathy moans and definite whimpers--and the way she was saying his name made him feel like a fucking god. 

Yet again, he wondered how he got this lucky. How a man like him got this: a beautiful genius of a woman, with bright smiles and babbles and scars that she tried to hide, but she trusted him enough to let him see all of her, be everything to her. 

When he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked gently, Felicity fell apart. “Oliver--Oliver, oh my God, yes, Oliver!” 

And the way she felt, the way she acted, made him forget anything but her. 

XXX

Was this what flying felt like?

Felicity was pretty sure it was. This giddy, breathless, floating feeling? Yeah, it was like flying. 

In her previous relationships, oral sex was not exactly something she had experienced frequently. There had always been a grudging sense that her boyfriend was doing her a favor. Yet Oliver . . . he had been so eager. Saying please? Doing so much to make it good for her? 

He was so perfect. Well, no, he had flaws. But right now, he seemed really close to perfect.

Cuddling in against Oliver, Felicity tucked her arms between them and let her hands rest on his chest. His arms went around her, one bicep serving as a very nice pillow while his other arm was bent at the elbow, letting his hand rest in the middle of her back. His fingers lightly stroked her skin, making her feel so . . . cherished. 

She tilted her head back and gazed at him. “Y’know what I was thinking earlier?”

“If you were thinking during what I just did to you, I need to do it again and pull out all the stops,” Oliver said, his voice a deep rumble. But his lips were quirked in a smile. 

Her breath did _not_ catch at the thought of Oliver doing even more to make her come apart then he just had. Because that had to be impossible.

“No, not during that,” she said, sliding one hand up to his face and stroking his jawline. Like they had a mind of their own, her fingertips rubbed against his stubble, then slowly traced his lips. His mouth was so pretty. And so good at its job . . . which was making her feel everything. 

“Felicity,” he said, his voice even deeper as his lips moved against her fingers, and wow, that was hot. 

With a swallow, she moved her fingers to rest against his chin. “Earlier,” she said, trying to get back to what she wanted to tell him. “After we made love? You know what I was thinking?” 

This time, he didn’t make a joke. No, there was a slight shift in his intensity, a narrowing of his focus. Like this was something very, very important to him. “What?” he asked quietly. 

The way he was looking at her made her mind have to work extra hard to hold back the babble and not attack him. But she really wanted him to hear this. To know how important he was to her. 

“I was thinking that I was willing to do anything, even be a nymphomaniac, if it meant you looking as relaxed as you did right after you came,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks flush a little because she was unable to look away from him as she spoke. 

But that meant she could see the emotions that flickered through Oliver’s eyes. There was a lot of lust and desire. A good amount of smugness, too. A flash of humor. But more than all that, there was an earth-shattering look of love and amazement.

“Felicity,” he said again, his head already lowering towards hers. She arched up against him, kissing him slowly, feeling how he gripped her tighter and his hips blindly pressed against hers. And . . . other parts of himself. Parts that clearly wanted her attention. 

“You are--you’re so--” Oliver muttered against her lips, before he kissed her again.

“Use your words, Oliver,” she teased once he let her breathe. Feeling giddy and overwhelmed by how happy she was. 

Moving faster than should be possible, Oliver rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. “Or we can talk in another way,” he said, arching his hips up against her and--okay! Okay, that was definitely what was doing his thinking at the moment.

And seeing him lying underneath her, Felicity was definitely in favor of non-verbal communication right now. Because she was pretty sure her hands and her tongue could be more coherent in her appreciation of his body than any words could be. 

“Okay,” she said, rubbing against him a little. “But after this, we are putting on clothes and getting food and talking. I have so much to tell you.” 

He nodded quickly, reaching up and pulling her down for a kiss. 

“‘Cause, y’know, it’s a marathon, not a--oh, God, Oliver,” she moaned as his cock slid through her folds, almost sliding into her. “Condom, condom--”

“Hurry,” he said through gritted teeth. “Felicity--” 

She gave him what felt like a wide-eyed, manic grin, as she fumbled in her nightstand for a condom. “You are so lucky that I got these earlier,” she muttered as she turned back to him. 

From his clenched teeth and tight jaw and flushed face to his eyes which were so dark that there was only a thin ring of blue beyond his pupil, it was clear that Oliver was barely holding on. She pressed her lips together, holding back on any further teasing. Wanting to give him relief. 

As soon as she rolled the condom on him, she slid down, taking him as deep as she could. His hands gripped her hips, his eyes slamming shut. His mouth opened and then closed, and Felicity knew she had never seen anything so perfect. 

“I’ve got you,” she said, leaning forward and bracing herself on his shoulders. “I’m here. You can let go.” 

Oliver’s eyes slid open, looking up at her. She smiled at him, meaning the words. Not just in this moment, but always. 

“Felicity,” he said, his hands sliding up her back. He started thrusting, his movements jerky, and Felicity peppered kisses over his face as she clenched around him.

That was all he needed. His back arched and he let out a wordless shout as he climaxed. Felicity closed her eyes as her still-sensitive flesh contracted, giving her a small orgasm as she rode out his.

When she looked down at him, it was to see his eyes were closed, his lashes resting on his cheeks, breathing deeply. So many of the lines she was used to seeing on his face were smoothed out. He looked younger, softer. More like the man she had met seven years ago. But so much more than that Oliver. 

She rubbed her eyes and then her chest, telling herself it was the eyestrain that made her feel like crying. But she knew it was more than that. It was . . . everything.

With a yawn, Felicity started to move, only for Oliver to keep her from moving off of him by wrapping one arm around her and holding her in place. “I thought you were asleep,” she said softly, brushing her nose against his jaw.

“Mmmm, stay,” he murmured.

His voice was so soft and sleepy, like maybe he was partially asleep, and it made that feeling inside her, that shivering happiness, even stronger. So she laid her head on his shoulder and stayed right where she was, even though she was sure she was too heavy to stay on top of him for long. 

But a nap sounded really good and Oliver was so warm . . . her eyes slid shut and Felicity let herself fall into sleep.

When she woke up, it was with a need to use the bathroom. Her apartment was shrouded in darkness, the lights of Starling City instead of sunlight coming through the windows. From the rumbling of her stomach, it was well past dinner time, especially considering she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. 

Felicity reached out to her nightstand, fumbling as she touched a damp washcloth--how had that gotten there?--until she found her glasses, and slid them on. That let her see Oliver a bit better, even in the dim light. And he was much too beautiful to not see clearly. 

He was breathing slowly, his chest rising and falling and his arm still wrapped around her. She smiled and reached out to stroke his jaw, only for a soft snore to slip from between his lips. 

As fast as she could, she slapped her hand over her mouth to hold back her giggles. Oliver Queen _snored_. 

Smiling, Felicity leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek, then carefully untangled herself from him. She padded over towards the door to pick up his shirt, because damn it, she wanted to wear it. It smelled like him and she was pretty sure he would like to see her in his shirt, if he was like any guy ever. Then, without further delay, she hurried to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

XXX

A soft click made Oliver’s eyes pop open to darkness. He sat up, his mind working to figure out what woke him up and where he was, when the fragrance hanging in the air--citrus and flowers and sex--reminded him. 

Felicity’s apartment. Where they had spent several hours making love. 

Oliver grinned and laid back on the bed, tucking one arm behind his head. It had been a really long time since he had felt like this. Blissful and relaxed and . . . safe. 

This tiny studio apartment, on the edge of the Glades, felt safe to him, because Felicity was here. 

Or was she? 

He frowned as his brain finally woke up and he realized that Felicity wasn’t in the bed. If she had gotten up, she would have turned on some lights, wouldn’t she? But when he glanced over at the bathroom, and noticed the now-closed door and the strip of light outlining it, he relaxed. 

Settling back against the sheets, Oliver closed his eyes and breathed slowly, his free hand coming to rest on his stomach. He knew he should get up and check his phone. Let Digg know where he was, make sure no one was trying to get in touch with him. But right now, he didn’t want to leave this bed. 

Felicity’s bed. 

It might not seem like the most comfortable bed on Earth. Maybe if he compared it to his sleeping accommodations on Lian Yu, maybe. But why had he been so eager to come to Felicity’s place, when he had a king-sized bed with the softest mattress available and thousand thread count sheets?

Because he wanted to see where Felicity lived. He wanted to wrap himself up in her, in her life, until there was no way he could ever not be a part of it. 

Oliver had never really thought about what ‘falling in love’ meant. He thought that you were attracted to someone, you discovered you had common interests, and you eventually realized you were in love. And love was something steady and true and unchanging. 

But now? Now, he knew it wasn’t like that at all. Because the word ‘falling’ was right. He felt like he kept going deeper and deeper into this feeling, finding new elements in the person who had become the center of his world.

When Felicity had leaned forward, her blue eyes locking on his, and told him she had him and he could let go . . . he was pretty sure he had fallen in love with her all over again. Because she knew him, inside and out, and she was here. With him. 

He had never felt like this. 

The sound of the door opening made him look over towards the bathroom, seeing Felicity standing in the doorway and outlined by the light. And she was wearing his shirt. 

“Is that for my benefit or yours?” he asked, gesturing as she walked towards him, her hips swaying a little underneath his henley. 

“Both,” she said, pausing only to turn on the small lamp on her nightstand before sitting on the bed and tucking one leg underneath herself. “I get you shirtless, you get me in your shirt.” 

Chuckling, Oliver lifted his hand from his stomach to cup the back of her head. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly. “Hi,” she said against his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his fingers stroking her scalp. 

For a few moments, they stayed like that: brushing soft kisses against each other’s lips, breathing slowly. Her hand ran up and down his arm while he kept his hand buried in her hair. 

Then a loud rumble came from his stomach. 

Felicity pulled back with a giggle. “Well, that broke the mood,” she said.

“Nah, ignore it,” he said, reaching for her, only for Felicity to hold up her hand. 

“We need to refuel, because the last thing I want is to pass out in the middle of making love.” She paused and tilted her head, then smirked. “Afterwards is fine.” 

This confident, flirty Felicity was going to kill him, he thought. If he thought her babbling and accidental innuendos about sex were adorable, this side of her was a very hot surprise. He shifted up onto his elbows. “Okay. Pizza or Chinese? Because we are not leaving this apartment yet.” 

“Chinese?” she asked, her hand casually stroking over his abs. “I can’t eat pizza off these.” 

Oliver blinked, then growled softly and yanked her to him. He kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue against hers and palming one of her breasts through his shirt. 

She let out a moan. “Oliver . . .” she said, her resistance weakening. He felt her shift closer to him, and then he broke the kiss and pushed himself into a sitting position. 

“You know, I am pretty hungry.”

“Wha--?” she said, her mouth hanging open as she looked at him in shock. 

Unable to hold back his smirk any longer, Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “Food is important.” 

Once the words sunk in, Felicity rolled her eyes and reached out to slap his shoulder. “So is not pissing off your girlfriend. And ow.” 

_Girlfriend_. He had a _girlfriend_ now. Lover, partner, significant other--whatever word you used, he had someone in his life that loved him and that he loved back. 

It took a moment, after he fully savored this epiphany, to realize that Felicity was babbling. “ . . . it’s probably too early to be throwing around terms like that and maybe ‘girlfriend’ isn’t the right one, because calling you my boyfriend sounds--well, um, it sounds awesome, but if you don’t like it--” 

Gently, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, her lips pressing tightly together. “Felicity,” he said softly, “let’s order some Chinese. Because you’re right: it is very, very important that I don’t piss off my girlfriend.”

She gave him a slightly trembly smile, even as her eyes brightened. “Yeah?” 

“Well, that’s what you told me, and you’re a genius _and_ my girlfriend, so . . .” he said, smiling at her. The smile that only she could bring out of him. 

And then he had his arms full of Felicity as she pressed against him, kissing him as her arms went around his neck. “I love you,” she said, pulling back and grinning at him. “Boyfriend. Hi, this is my boyfriend, Oliver. Oh, I should tell my boyfriend, Oliver, about that. Wait until you meet Oliver--he’s my boyfriend.” 

“Trying to make it sound less strange?” he said, running his thumbs over her cheeks. 

“Yes,” she admitted, smiling at him. “I know, I sound like a teenage girl. But I don’t care.” She shifted away from him, only pausing to lean down to brush a kiss over his abs, before she got out of bed.

The touch of her lips against his stomach made his muscles tighten in a very distracting way. So he wasn’t able to grab her and keep her right there. 

But watching her move around the apartment, turning on lights and getting menus, all while talking about the different options for Chinese food and asking if he really could eat junk food with his body and lamenting the unfairness of it all, Oliver didn’t mind so much. They had plenty of time for her to explore his six-pack with her tongue, like he really hoped she would. 

“So what do you want?” she asked, climbing back into bed with her phone and the menus, her long legs crossed. 

_You_ , was his first and immediate thought. Because God, she was gorgeous. She kept pushing up her glasses as she glanced at the menus and then at her phone, her thumb scrolling across the screen. She had pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail as she was hunting for the menus and her face was wiped clean of her makeup, revealing what he was pretty sure were freckles across her nose. His shirt was nearly hanging off her shoulder, revealing the line of her collarbone, and then there were her legs, and . . . 

“You.” 

Felicity looked up and smiled at him. “You’ve already got me,” she said, nudging her toes against his leg.

And the simple honesty in her words--the feeling of truth that infused them--made him smile back at her and gently wrap his fingers around her ankle. “Then you, and hunan beef, if they have it. Oh, and steamed dumplings.”

XXX

If this was what her future was, Felicity didn’t know why it had taken her so long to get here. 

Oh, she knew deep down that they both had a lot of issues and challenges to work through still, even though their relationship already felt so strong right from the start. And they had only been together for barely five hours at this point. But . . . but this was so _good_.

Talking and smiling. Little touches that lingered and comforted. Oliver laughing when he learned she didn’t know how to use chopsticks and proceeding to teach her. Leaning back against him, her back against his chest, as they both ate and checked their phones. 

“Digg says, and I quote, ‘this is the last time I suit up, so hope you’re enjoying your break’,” Oliver said, reading the text message after snickering so much that Felicity had to ask what was going on. 

“Diggle goes out as the Arrow sometimes?” she asked, looking up at him. 

Oliver nodded. “While I was away with you, to help keep up the impression that I’m not the Arrow. And other times.” 

“How does that even work? Those leather pants are very tight.” 

When he tilted his head to look at her, his lips smirking, Felicity rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, I noticed. Don’t tell me you didn’t choose skin-tight leather for that reason.” 

“I can’t fight in loose clothing,” he said, the smirk growing even bigger. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Felicity said, nudging his chest with her elbow. “I bet you tell that to all the girls.” 

“Nope, just to my girlfriend,” he said, pressing a soft, warm kiss against her jaw. 

Jerk. He had already realized how much she liked being called his girlfriend and was using it whenever he wanted to win an argument. She needed to come up with her own argument silver bullet. 

She moved the chopsticks around in her carton of chicken lo mein as she thought about Oliver. The Arrow. Going out at night, hunting down criminals, risking his life. These kinds of nights, cuddling together in bed with Chinese food? This wasn’t what their lives together would be.

“Felicity?” 

Oliver’s voice was soft and a bit hesitant. He had slid his arm around her, his hand resting lightly on her stomach underneath his shirt, while she had been lost in thought. Now his fingers were stroking her slowly, making her relax back against him. 

“Yeah?” she asked quietly, setting aside her food. 

He rested his lips against her shoulder for a moment--she could feel them, could feel his breath wash over her collarbone--before he spoke. “I guess reality just kinda knocked on the door, huh?” 

Felicity nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah,” she repeated, resting her hand lightly on his knee. The one that she knew must have been injured pretty badly, because it didn’t look completely right, even to her uneducated eyes. “I . . . I’m really scared about losing you.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver go still. His hand stopped moving on her belly. Turning a little in his arms so she could see more of him, Felicity went on. “Every night you go out there, it could be the night you don’t come back.” 

“I know,” he said quietly. Not trying to reassure her with platitudes, at least, which she appreciated. But it still didn’t make that knot of worry in her stomach go away. 

“Digg served four tours in Afghanistan.” 

She frowned a little, not really understanding why Oliver was mentioning this, but deciding to wait and see where he was going. 

“And he was married, to someone in his unit,” Oliver went on, shifting enough to look right at her. “And I asked, how did he manage the fear? Of going out on a mission with her and knowing what could happen.” He paused, pressing his hand firmly against her stomach. “He told me that you can stare down death with something to live for or not. But having something--or someone--is better.” 

The way Oliver was looking at her . . . she knew she was his ‘something to live for’. And it didn’t make the worry go away. Not by a long shot. But . . . but it made it smaller. Small enough that she felt like she could manage. 

Oliver Queen was a fighter. He never gave up hope, he never stopped trying. So if he said he was going to fight with everything he had in order to come back to her . . . she knew it was the truth. And if he was fighting that hard for her, she could fight just as hard for him. 

Suddenly, his face crumpled a little. “Hey, hey, don’t cry--” he said, reaching his other hand up to brush a tear away from her face. 

She hadn’t even realized she had started to cry. Felicity sniffed. “I-I’m sorry--” 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no--it’s just--that was really beautiful,” she said, turning to wrap her arms around him. 

“Yeah, it is,” Oliver said, rubbing his hand over her back. “He told me that right before we left on the tour. So I was thinking about it a lot while we were getting closer, until finally . . . I couldn’t deny how I felt about you anymore. Because I knew you were who I’d be fighting for.” 

That made her arms tighten around him, holding on to him as fiercely as she could. It was like their hug during their dinner in Vegas, but this time, it was for her sake. Because it was her way of fighting for him. 

For them.

And maybe . . . maybe she could do more. Help out. Take a look at his computers, offer up tech suggestions. From her very quick glance at the current computer setup in the basement, it appeared that an upgrade was definitely in order. 

But she could talk to him about that later. For now . . . she really needed to kiss him. 

Felicity drew back and looked at Oliver. She rested her hand against his cheek, feeling the prickle of his stubble and the slightly-weathered skin at the corner of his eye. He gave her a small smile, the muscles of his face shifting underneath her hand. “What are you doing?” he asked softly, his hands slipping underneath the henley again to rest on her lower back.

“Looking at you,” she said softly, feeling the next words catch in her throat a little. Because they were a little sappy, but really true. “The man I love.” 

The smile on Oliver’s face softened, growing wider as his face relaxed and his eyes lit up. “That’s who I am,” he said, pulling her closer. “And you’re the woman I love.” 

She smiled back at him, feeling a sense of peace fall over her. There were still challenges ahead for them. Like meeting each other’s mothers, and seeing how their lives would mesh together, and the whole matter of his night job. 

But in this moment, Felicity Smoak was in love with Oliver Queen. And Oliver Queen was in love with Felicity Smoak. And that was all that mattered. 

“You know, that was pretty good,” Oliver said, brushing a kiss over her lips. “You should use that in a book someday.” 

Felicity chuckled. “You think so? You don’t want to keep it for yourself?” 

“Nah,” Oliver said, grinning at her. “I like inspiring you.” And then his grin turned into a smirk, and his hands moved lower to cup her ass, and--

“Nuh-huh,” Felicity said, wiggling against him and bringing her hands to his shoulders, pushing him down on the bed. “It’s my turn, and I have been waiting for weeks to do this.” 

She pressed a few quick kisses to his chest, promising to come back to those frankly unfair pecs later, and then moved to his abs. 

Oliver laughed, a bit breathlessly. “I--I think you like inspiring me, too.” 

Looking up at him, Felicity did her best imitation of his smirk. “Let’s find out.” 

And then she lowered her mouth to start licking the ridges of his abdomen, feeling him laugh and knowing she was right where she was meant to be.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this time, I mean it--this is the end for now. :-) Originally this was supposed to be a short, smutty little epilogue. As so often happens, Oliver and Felicity had other ideas--both in terms of how much sex they wanted to have and in needing to talk a little bit. So I hope you enjoyed this slightly-extended, for-the-moment farewell to this universe. I’m looking forward to sharing more of my fics with all of you soon!


End file.
